Taji's Syndrome
Page 19
“Hey girl, that’s the wrong attitude,” Weyman chided gently. “You’re a doctor with a big, scary M.D. after your name. That’s worth a couple of pips on the shoulderboards any old day. You and Wren and Gross can stand up to them on the strength of the M.D., and you can win. This is your bailiwick, and there’s no reason you should be intimidated. If anything, the military ought to be intimidated, especially if they had anything to do with this, anything at all. If they even suspected that they were endangering the lives of American citizens. Ever since the Supreme Court upheld the suit of those six families in Utah for wrongful deaths because of the bomb test fallout, the military’s been treading on eggs. All you have to do is remind them of it.”
“But that has nothing to do with this,” Sylvia said, turning into the right lane, getting ready to exit. Overhead large warning signs announced there were stoplights in half a mile.
“You don’t know that for sure, and neither do they.” He tugged on his seatbelt. “I wish these things were adjustable for height.”
“Amen,” said Sylvia, then signaled to leave the parkway.
“Is it my imagination, or are there a lot of new buildings in this town?” Weyman asked.
“We had a mild quake six years ago. There’s been rebuilding and upgrading since then.” She turned east on El Cajon Boulevard. “Do you think we’re looking at an epidemic, a real epidemic, Weyman?” It was difficult to breathe as she waited for his answer.
“Yes, and so do you, or you wouldn’t be asking me.” He shifted in his seat so that he could look at her face. “What has me worried more than anything is that we can’t get a handle on how the stuff is transmitted, or how long it takes to develop. We still haven’t seen anyone with the disease under the age of twelve, and that’s one of the most puzzling aspects of the syndrome.”
“TS,” she said with faint amusement.
“You bet,” he responded. “Who else is going to be with us?”
“There’s a Doctor Azada down from Sacramento. That’s why we’re using the State Regional Administration Building for the meeting. Azada wants it that way, that’s the way it is.” She signaled for a left-hand turn, and drew into the parking lot beside a block of angled metal and glass. It looked like an exotic and overgrown crystal set out on the hillside with a newly planted park around it.
There were three Marine, one Air Force and two Naval officers waiting for Sylvia and Weyman in the fifty-person auditorium on the fourth floor. They all made nervous, overly polite introductions and agreed that it was unfortunate that the others were running late.
“I realize that this is a difficult time for all of us,” said Commander Tolliver, meeting Sylvia’s eyes with a diplomatic smile.
“You mean,” she said crisply, “that there are people sick and dying and we have yet to establish a cause.”
“That is part of it, certainly,” said the Commander with an awkward chuckle.
“And it isn’t funny,” Sylvia reminded him.
Whatever rejoinder he might have made was lost when Michael Wren came into the room. He looked worn out and there was a shine on his black skin that Weyman noticed with alarm, “I got held up,” he said as he closed the door.
“Gross and Azada aren’t here yet,” said Sylvia before any of the men in uniform could speak.
“Gross isn’t going to be here,” said Mike. “He was admitted last night. Looks like he’s got the stuff.”
“They’re calling it TS in Atlanta,” Sylvia said to Mike, waiting for some sign of amusement.
“They got it right for once,” said Mike as he stumbled down toward the speakers’ platform. “TS. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Doctor Wren?” Commander Tolliver said, coming forward with his hand extended. “We’re very anxious to do everything we can to assist your investigation in any way we can. If you can make use of our facilities, we would be very pleased to arrange it.”
“What about finding out if one of your biological toys is causing it?” Mike said, his voice uneven.
“Certainly. It’s our understanding that the Joint Chiefs have issued a directive to all personnel that a complete search of all records is to be made at once.”
“Great. And then you slap a top secret on it and none of us ever finds out . . .” He did not go on. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been up all night, and I’ve been losing patients at a terrible rate. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“We’re all under stress just now,” said Tolliver, trying not to look as self-contained and smug as the other officers did.
The rear door opened and Victor Azada came into the auditorium, his hands laden with two attaché cases and a number of rolled-up papers. Dark hair, olive skin, he was either Mexican or Japanese, but not clearly one or the other. “It’s been a difficult morning; I hope you’ll forgive me for delaying the start of the meeting.” He was as smooth as the most adept politician, making a point of underplaying his authority without relinquishing it to anyone. “I was sorry to hear that Fred Timmons passed away,” he said to Sylvia and Mike Wren. “He was a good man.”
“He got this disease, this TS, and it killed him,” Mike said, his head coming up sharply.
“TS?” said Azada.
“What they’re calling this shit in Atlanta. Can’t think of a better word for it, myself,” said Mike, doing his best to stand straight and look Azada in the eye.
“We’ll miss him. He’s contributed a lot to PHES, and it isn’t often that regional heads are so conscientious. We’ll miss him.” He had reached the speakers’ platform and started to spread out the things he carried. “We have much to go over, and time is crucial, isn’t it? I want to be back in Sacramento before six, if we can manage that.”
Three of the officers grew serious at once. “Doctor Azada, we believe that there are a number of things to cover, and for that reason, it might be best if we agree to a greater flexibility.”
“Oh, I have no reason to stop you from carrying on when I leave. I want you to be as direct as you can and that will save us misunderstanding later. You gentlemen and Doctors Kostermeyer, Wren and Muggridge will have plenty of opportunity to work out your testing program as well as a screening method before you finish up this evening.” He favored them with another expert smile. “Shall we get down to it?”
The officers gave Azada their attention at once; Sylvia and Weyman exchanged glances and Mike Wren put his hand to his forehead.
Tolliver, who was watching Azada prepare his materials, remarked, “I wonder if it might be better to assume that this is a preliminary discussion. From what we’ve been told, this is a very delicate and complex investigation and the disease in question is a deadly one. It would probably be in our best interests to plan to meet again—all of us—before the week is out, so that we can determine how best to proceed.”
Azada stopped spreading out the graphs and reports. “I’m not sure I follow you, Commander.”
“What have I said that confuses you?” His manner was respectful; he had not raised his voice, but the authority of his presence was indisputable. “You apparently aren’t aware, Doctor Azada, that there are ramifications here that could turn this investigation very unpleasant for all of us—civilians and military alike.”
Victor Azada had not moved. He regarded Tolliver carefully, reassessing the soft-spoken Commander in the swift, canny way of politicians. “What do you recommend?”
“We don’t know yet, and, with no offense intended, neither do you. If anyone can tell us what our predicament is and how we might deal with it, it’s these physicians, especially Doctor Muggridge, since his department in Atlanta has been developing protocols for situations like this one.”
“That may be so, but I don’t see why it’s necessary that I remain once we—” Azada stopped abruptly as Mike Wren collapsed to the floor.
Sylvia was on her knees beside Mike less than five seconds before Weyman joined her. “He’s running a fever. Feel his face. I’m having trouble finding his pulse.”
“Someone call an ambulance,” said Azada nervously. One of the officers left the room quickly, and the others gathered around, trying not to ask too many questions. Captain Rockell, his Marine uniform so perfect it was hard to imagine that he had sat down in it, leaned forward. “Do you know if this is . . .”
“It’s TS,” said Weyman as he did his best to get a reading on Mike’s pulse. “Faint, irregular, fluttery. It fits the pattern, Sylvia.”
“You mean we might all be exposed?” Azada demanded, stepping back three paces.
“If you can get this stuff being around someone who has it, then, yes, you’ve been exposed, we all have,” said Sylvia as she wiped the sweat from Mike’s forehead. “But we have no reason to believe that you can get this through exposure to someone who already has it. If this is an environmental toxin, it doesn’t matter what you do to or with someone who has it—you’re exposed to the disease because you’ve been breathing the air, or drinking the water, or walking on the pavement, or any number of other things.” She took Mike’s hand in hers. “Hang on, pal. The ambulance is on its way, and we’ll get you to the hospital as fast as we can. Okay?”
Mike mumbled something that might have been assent, or merely a reaction to hearing a voice.
Weyman had removed his jacket and folded it into a pillow. “Here,” he said, offering it to Sylvia. “Put it under his head. He might as well be as comfortable as possible.”
“Too bad this isn’t the good old days, like you see in the movies,” said Azada, keeping his distance. “One of the doctors here would be carrying his medical bag. Or her medical bag.” This time his mouth would not supply the required smile for Sylvia. “It would have been nothing more than a couple of minutes, and he’d be back on his feet.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Sylvia. “Or have you forgotten, Doctor Azada?”
“It’s too bad that it . . .” Victor Azada moved to the far corner of the platform and began to fold his graphs and displays once again.
“How’s he doing?” Tolliver asked. “Is there anything you want us to do?”
“He’s doing badly. He’s having trouble breathing. Look at his skin—it’s grey.” She smoothed Mike’s hand. “God, I should have noticed his skin before now. His being black doesn’t excuse me.”
“You both being exhausted might,” said Weyman. “You had no indication that he was ill.” He gestured so that the military men would move back. “When the ambulance attendants get here, they’re going to need all the space we can give them.”
Sylvia once again smoothed his brow. “Don’t fade on me now, Mike. Keep fighting a little longer.”
There was the whoop of an ambulance at a distance, and all those gathered in the little auditorium listened for it with a relief that they dared not express.
“I’m . . . sorry,” Mike said, doing his best to focus on _ Sylvia’s face. “I . . . I . . .”
“It’s okay, Mike,” she said, hoping that it was, that there would be no reason to regret her concern and care for him. “It’s going to take a couple more minutes, and then you’ll be on your way.”
“I think we ought to move this meeting to another room,” Azada announced. “I’m going to arrange it right now.” He had found the excuse he wanted and he bolted from the room.
Commander Tolliver said nothing, but his expression of condemnation and disbelief made words unnecessary.
“We’re going to have them run all the tests they can on you in the ambulance,” Weyman told Mike, speaking slowly and distinctly. “We’ll also make sure you get quarantine space. As soon as we know which hospital can take you, we’ll be out to see you.”
Sylvia moved back, suddenly shaking all over. “Oh, God.”
“What is it?” Weyman asked, startled. He saw how pale she had become, and that her mouth was not steady. “Sylvia?”
“It’s like Gerry Plaiting all over again,” she murmured, shivering now as if the room were frigid.
Weyman could not place the name, but he said, “No, it’s not like that at all.”
“The ambulance is here,” announced Commander Tolliver, his manner firm. “Gentlemen,” he went on to the two attendants with the gurney held, legs folded up, between them, “hurry, if you will.”
The older attendant signaled his companion and they came down to the speakers’ platform. “Excuse me, Miss,” said the older, trying to push Sylvia aside.
“Doctor,” she corrected sharply. “Handle this man with great care. He’s running a fever and by the look of him he’ll need saline before you give him anything else.”
Neither attendant paid much attention as they busied themselves loading Mike onto the gurney and strapping him down.
“The Doctor gave you instructions, fellas,” said Weyman at his most laconic as he held up his identification from NCDC. “I suggest you do what she says.”
The younger attendant peered at the credentials and nodded twice. “Okay, Doctor.” He looked around at Sylvia. “Saline first, Doctor. Is that right?”
“Yes; what hospital is he going to?” Sylvia demanded.
“They’ve got room at La Valle,” said the older, as if unaware of how far away that hospital was.
“Isn’t there something closer?” Sylvia asked in quiet horror.
“Not with an open quarantine bed, there isn’t,” said the older. “You’re lucky we didn’t have to go all the way to Long Beach.”
“You mean to say that there are no quarantine beds in San Diego left?” Sylvia insisted. “What about the private hospitals? We can arrange something. He works for PHES, for God’s sake. Can’t one of the private hospitals—”
“They’re full, too,” said the older driver. “They’re all full. Get it?”
The men in uniform said nothing, but their eyes moved restlessly.
“La Valle,” said Sylvia. “That’s Del Mar, isn’t it? Out off of San Andreas Drive?”
“That’s the one,” said the younger attendant. He looked at his associate. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.” The two men carried Mike out of the auditorium, leaving Sylvia staring after them.
Captain Lorrimer, who had said nothing so far, finally broke his silence. “We might be able to make arrangements at Pendleton and Miramar. My Air Force colleague might be able to help out, even though he’s not a Navy flyer.”
“I think there might be something we can do,” said Colonel Packard. “I’m here on tolerance, but I can see what can be arranged. We do have medical facilities in Southern California that could be turned over, in part, to the civilian population, if that becomes necessary.”
For the first time, Sylvia wondered what Colonel Packard did for the Air Force, and who he answered to.
Victor Azada appeared in the rear door. “We can move to the conference hall on the floor above us. It’s all arranged. They’ll send up two secretaries to take notes.”
For almost a minute no one moved, and then Commander Tolliver said urbanely, “We’re quite satisfied where we are. Why go to all that bother? The secretaries might be handy, but there’s no reason to move.”
“But that man . . . Doctor Wren . . . he collapsed. If it’s TS and . . .” He made himself be quiet. “I think it would be wiser if we changed rooms.”
“We’d prefer to stay here,” said Colonel Packard, and this statement was supported by nods from the other military men.
“It might not hurt for us to remember why time is so important, staying here,” said Weyman. He had slipped his hand under Sylvia’s elbow and wa
s helping her stand straighter than before.
“Yes,” she said. “What happened to Mike Wren could happen to any of us, at any time. Until we know what the cause of this disease is and do something to stop it, none of us is going to be safe.” Her face was set as she looked at Azada. “Why don’t you set your graphs out again?”
With a sigh of nervous acquiescence, Azada put his materials back on the table. “All right,” he said, and strove to take control of the meeting once more. “The way I see it is that we have been able to isolate the disease in the southern fourth of the state, and if we’re careful, it can probably remain that way.”
“Except for the men on the ships and in the planes posted to other bases,” Commander Tolliver reminded him.
“And the tourists coming to see the zoo and the wild animal park, and Sea World, and just passing through to Ensenada and Tijuana. And the families visiting relatives, and the truckers and suppliers who come here on the roads, and the businessmen in cars and planes . . .” She let Azada think about what she was implying.
“To say nothing of the usual transients and the students and those who simply get transferred or move away,” added Captain Lorrimer. “I appreciate the implications, Doctor Kostermeyer.”
“We don’t know how long an exposure is necessary, nor do we know what elements must be present, but for the time being, we have to assume that anyone who has been in this area has had some degree of exposure to the disease.” Weyman addressed this primarily to Doctor Azada. “And we have to take precautions based on that assumption.”