by Daniel Kalla
“She looks a lot like her mom,” he said.
Elise tilted her head again, and Noah read the unspoken question in her eyes. “We split up last year,” he said.
Elise nodded. Again, her eyes searched his for more details but she didn’t ask. “The travel away from your daughter must be difficult.”
“Nature of the beast, I’m afraid.” Noah shrugged, feigning acceptance. “I have yet to see a new infectious threat break out in the Washington area. Thank God.”
Having opened up more to each other than in any previous conversation, they fell into a brief clumsy silence before they turned to more familiar territory. “What will happen to the Allaire farm?” Noah asked.
“It will be closed, of course,” she said. “We will gather the evidence and soil samples we require. And then the buildings will be demolished.”
Despite their dubious farming practices, Noah felt a pang of sympathy for the distraught manager and the stoic president, Geneviève Allaire. Their situation reminded him of André Pereau, and how this prion shattered his life.
The waitress placed Elise’s omelet in front of her. Elise attacked the plate, while Noah sipped his coffee and watched her eat. “Did you miss dinner last night…and lunch…and breakfast?” he teased.
She dabbed at the corner of her lip with a napkin. “I get hungry when I am nervous.”
“About meeting your boss?”
Without answering, Elise checked her watch. “The traffic might be bad. We should go.”
She signed the bill to the room and they headed outside to find a taxi. Under crystal blue skies dotted with benign white clouds, Paris was at her travel-guide best. Noah noticed that the temperature had cooled, though it was still balmy compared to Limoges. The bellman hailed a cab. The old cabbie greeted them with a hacking cough as they climbed in the back. He grunted unhappily when Elise gave him their destination, and then he jerked the car out onto the road. The traffic was lighter than Elise had predicted and the sulking cabbie drove them from Montparnasse to the Ministry of Agriculture building on rue de Varenne in less than ten minutes.
They arrived early for the meeting. Noah stood across the street and admired the ornate engraving and detail of the Ministry of Agriculture building’s classical design. “You do that often,” Elise remarked.
“Do what?”
“Stare at buildings.”
“Your buildings in Europe have so much more history than ours.”
“Too much.” She smiled. “When I go to America, I appreciate how well-heated your buildings are and how many electrical outlets they have. Here, I am always looking for places to plug in my laptop.”
Noah smiled. “We always appreciate other people’s backyards more.”
They crossed the street and walked up the stone steps to the main entrance, where the armed guard recognized Elise with a nod and asked only for Noah’s identification. After clearing security, Elise led Noah down the hall to an ornate staircase. They climbed three flights of stairs and then passed through double doors into a large office. She stopped to greet a plump older woman at the desk without introducing Noah.
Elise pointed down the corridor. “This is the French agriculture minister’s office, but he is away today. We’re meeting in the conference room with Javier.”
“Javier?”
“Javier Montalva, the minister of agriculture for the E.U.,” she said, looking away. “My boss.”
They walked down a corridor to another set of double doors. Inside the conference room, the warm light flooded in from the wall of windows looking out on the main boulevard. A long mahogany conference table filled the length of the room. Noah estimated that there were at least thirty leather rolling chairs encircling it, but all were empty. The room smelled of coffee and pastries. Noah saw neither, but his interest in them reminded him that his stomach had settled and his hangover abated.
Elise pointed to two chairs near the end of the table, and they sat down beside each other facing the windows. At the sound of voices, they turned to see one door swing open. A man in an olive suit and black patterned tie swept into the room. Behind him, to Noah’s surprise, strode Jean Nantal. “Jean?” Noah said, rising to his feet.
“Ah, Noah.” Jean flashed his paternal smile. “I am almost as surprised as you are. I happened to be in Paris visiting my daughter and her family when Javier called. No more than an hour ago.”
Javier Montalva y Casas approached Noah with his hand outstretched. With a flawless smile, gelled wavy black hair, and sculpted cheeks, the man moved with the confidence of someone unaccustomed to hearing the word “no.” The scent of his cologne reached Noah before his hand did. “Ah, Dr. Haldane, what an honor it is to finally meet you!”
“Thank you, Sr. Montalva.”
Montalva, who Noah guessed to be in his late forties, clasped the back of Noah’s hand with his left and squeezed it between both palms. “Please, call me Javier,” he said with a Spanish lilt.
“And I’m Noah.”
“Your reputation truly precedes you, Noah. Your work on the ARCS virus was nothing short of heroic.” Montalva released his grip and turned to Elise. “Elise.” He took her by both shoulders and kissed on her either cheek. “Bienvenue à Paris aussi.”
“Javier,” Elise said and reddened slightly.
Noah and Elise sat back down in their seats and the two other men sat across from them. Montalva smiled at Noah again. “I understand your participation in Limousin has been invaluable.”
Noah gave Montalva a doubtful look. “I don’t know that I’ve been much help.”
“Not so.” Montalva’s hand swept through the air. “I understand you led the investigation back to Paris, where the victims’ autopsies proved that this outbreak is, indeed, vCJD and not an unknown prion.”
“That was Dr. McLeod’s lead. Besides, nothing is proven yet.” Noah understood that Elise had to update her superior at regular intervals, but he was still annoyed that she had briefed Montalva on their discussion with Gellier prior to this meeting.
Montalva waved away Noah’s doubts. He turned to his subordinate. “Elise, wonderful work with Ferme d’Allaire. Further testing has confirmed that their cattle feed was loaded with bovine protein.” He shook his head gravely. “That farm was a ticking bomb.”
“Thank you,” Elise murmured with a coyness Noah had not heard before.
Montalva interlocked his hands. “As we now have identified the cause and the source of both the bovine and human cases in this outbreak, we can move toward eradicating it.”
“It’s a little premature to say we have identified the source,” Noah pointed out.
“Oh?” Montalva’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why is that, Noah?”
“We have yet to establish any connection between the three known human cases and Ferme d’Allaire.”
“Except that they all lived within thirty kilometers of the farm,” Elise said.
“And would have presumably eaten beef products originally from there,” Montalva said. “After all, they are the largest cattle supplier in the province.”
Noah shook his head. “But we have no reason to believe the cows were sick while still on Ferme d’Allaire.”
“Ah, but who knows what else they were hiding in addition to illegal feeding practices?” Montalva said knowingly. “Besides, the infected cows were sold as calves. Is it not true that vCJD can take years to show up?”
Jean spoke up. “In the past, yes.” He rested a hand on Montalva’s sleeve. “But in this case, Javier, we are seeing both a shortened incubation period and an accelerated course of illness.”
“And what about the seventh infected cow?” Noah asked. “We still don’t know where it acquired its infection.”
Montalva’s very white smile resurfaced. “Actually, Noah, as of this morning we do.”
“Where?”
“There was some confusion at the farm where the cow died,” Montalva explained. “The record keeping was not…how should I say…idea
l. Several of the cattle’s ‘passports’ were confused. However, we have sorted the records out. The involved animal did indeed come from Ferme d’Allaire.”
“Good.” Jean nodded. “All seven cows. That certainly helps us pinpoint the source.”
“I couldn’t agree more, Jean,” Montalva said.
Despite the minister’s friendliness, his politicianlike manner grated on Noah. He glanced over to Elise. Something had changed in the envoy. Even her body language, which had always been as direct as her speech, had become more submissive in the presence of her superior. She sat lower in her chair, fidgeted with her nails, and for the most part avoided eye contact.
Montalva looked from Jean to Noah. “Obviously, I have neither the authority nor the expertise to tell you how to conduct your investigation.” He turned to Elise, his aqua-gray eyes smoldering with purpose. “However, from the E.U.’s point of view, we need to focus on continuing to trace and render all cattle without exception that came from Ferme d’Allaire in the past three years.”
“I agree,” Noah said grudgingly.
“And once we are satisfied we have found those animals, then we can look at lifting the ban on French beef.”
“Hold on!” Noah sat bolt upright in his chair. “It’s too early to consider lifting the ban. We don’t know nearly enough about this outbreak.”
Montalva held a hand out toward Noah as if offering him an escape from quicksand. “Noah, there have been no new human cases reported in almost a month…”
“A month?” Noah held up his palms. “You just said BSE is a disease measured in years.”
Montalva smiled patiently. “And Jean just said that this outbreak is accelerated. Yes?”
“Make up your mind, Minister!” Noah snapped. “On Ferme d’Allaire, you say the disease has a long incubation period. But at the butcher shop, it’s gone in a month. Which is it?”
There were no pearly teeth now. When Montalva spoke, his lips were tight and his voice low. “Do you have any idea what percentage of the E.U.’s budget is allotted to my department?”
Catching a warning glance from Jean, Noah bit his tongue and shook his head.
“Forty-five percent.” Noah said nothing, and Montalva continued: “Agriculture…farming…is still at the heart of the European economy. Not only have we paralyzed the French cattle-farming industry, we have sent shock waves through all of Europe and beyond. The continent’s entire infrastructure could be seriously impacted.”
Noah inhaled deeply and then said, “And what impact would it have on the continent if cases of brain-eating disease began to spread outside of Limousin?”
“That is why you are here.” Montalva smiled again, though his eyes were cooler than ever. “We will not lift any bans until it is safe to do so.”
Noah merely shrugged.
The conversation drifted to the logistics of tracking all the cows that originated from Ferme d’Allaire. Montalva explained that while the E.U. would continue to oversee the testing, the French Ministry of Agriculture would do the groundwork. When Montalva finished, Jean addressed the issue of the human cases. “Noah, Elise, we hope you will continue your investigation in Limousin to see what else you can learn from the families of the victims and the medical staff who cared for them.”
Elise nodded at the table, while Noah said, “We will also need to follow up with veterinarians who examined the diseased cows.”
Montalva frowned. “Why is that?”
“In any outbreak involving animal vectors—or carriers—we always consult the involved zoologists.”
“I see.” Montalva glanced at his watch. “I think we have covered the essentials this morning. Perhaps we should plan to meet again in three or four days to review the situation?”
As they were leaving, Jean grabbed Noah’s arm and led him down the hallway. When they were out of earshot of the others, he said, “You must understand, Javier and the others at the E.U. are under enormous political pressure.”
Noah shook his head. “It’s always the same, Jean. You know that. They’re always so concerned that we will threaten their economy with our quarantines and restrictions.”
“They never realize how much worse the alternative is, do they?” Jean smiled. “But as we bumbling bureaucrats go, Javier is one of the smarter ones. He won’t do anything rash out of political interest.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Jean reached out and laid a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Duncan told me about Maggie,” he said with deep sadness. “It does not sound hopeful.”
Noah swallowed. “It isn’t.”
“Duncan is a survivor. He will find the strength to carry on.” Jean shook his head. “This has not been a good week. You of course have heard about Louis Charron?”
“The neurologist?”
“Yes. I was a few years ahead of him in medical school. A first-class neurologist. And underneath his bark, he was a good man, too.”
“Was?”
“You haven’t heard?” Jean said. “He was rushing home from the hospital last night when he lost control of his car. He died instantly.”
“My God, how awful,” Noah said. “I had planned to see him again when we got back to Limousin. He was the only doctor who had examined all of the human cases.”
“Maybe one of his colleagues or residents had as well?”
“Maybe,” Noah muttered, but his thoughts were focused on all the accidents and death associated with the outbreak. Everyone touched by this prion seemed to face nothing but misery.
His stomach knotted again, but this time the hangover wasn’t to blame.
18
Limoges, France. January 18
Avril Avars leaned back in her chair and silently assessed André Pereau. Clean-shaven, but wearing an old cardigan and reeking of wine, he sat across from her with his hands folded on his lap and trembling slightly. Avril assumed Pereau had driven himself to her office. Had she not requested his presence, she might have taken the man downstairs for a Breathalyzer exam. She was frustrated by the indifferent attitude toward drinking and driving that was so prevalent in the region; she had attended far too many crash sites and seen too many bodies in the morgue because of the cavalier mix. Earlier that very day, she had heard of another victim, a prominent neurologist, who had fortunately killed only himself when he was so intoxicated that he veered off a straight road and directly into a tree.
Pereau looked around the room, sniffing. “Do you have a mold problem in your office, Detective?”
The question snapped Avril from her thoughts. “I am surprised you can smell it,” she said, unable to hide her disdain. “All I smell is stale wine.”
Pereau squinted at her. “I have not had a drink since last night.” He raised his shaky hands above the level of her desk. “These are steady as glass when I have been drinking.”
“Hmmm,” Avril said noncommittally. She reached for the wallet-sized photograph on the desk in front of her and studied it again. With fair skin, sculpted cheeks, and wide eyes, Yvette Pereau’s ethereal attractiveness was evident. And yet, from the ten-year-old photo alone, Avril inferred a fragile quality in Yvette, who stared at her like a startled kitten.
She lowered the photo to the desk. “M. Pereau, please tell me about the last time you saw your wife.”
“It was the Monday before last.”
She picked up the pen that lay on top of her notepad. “What time?”
“Around ten o’clock. We had eaten breakfast together. Afterwards, I went into town to run errands.”
She jotted down the date and time. “What sort of errands?”
“To pick up some supplies.”
“For the farm?”
“No point.” He shook his head. “By then, my farm was closed. Finished.”
“Because of the mad cow disease?” Avril asked. She was still digesting the news she had heard about the Pereau farm being a possible source of the mysterious illness. Though she was uncertain of its relevance to Paulin
e Lamaire’s disappearance, instinct told her that it probably played some role in Yvette Pereau’s sudden departure.
“Exactly,” he said. “The farm has been condemned by the Ministry of Agriculture. All my animals removed and destroyed.”
“So what supplies were you going to pick up in town?” she asked.
Pereau shrugged. “Food, household items, that sort of thing.”
“Wine?” Avril offered.
He nodded slightly. “Yes. That, too.”
“My colleagues suggested that your wine intake had something to do with Yvette’s departure.”
“Undoubtedly.” Pereau clasped his hands together. He looked up at Avril, his sad eyes not the least defensive. “I thought the same, too. At first.”
Avril deliberately ignored the opening, wanting to review the events chronologically. “How was that last breakfast together?”
He forced a laugh. “The eggs were on the runny side.”
“M. Pereau…”
“It was tense, Detective.” He sighed heavily. “All our meals after the first cow became sick were like that. We were facing ruin. Yvette was very scared.” He looked away. “So was I.”
Avril could easily picture the woman from the photo being terrified. “In retrospect, you didn’t notice anything different about her that morning?”
He shook his head.
“And when you came home from town?”
“She was gone.”
“She didn’t leave you any kind of note?”
“No.”
“Has she been in contact since?”
“Not a word.”
Avril tapped her pen on the half-empty page. “You knew right away that she had left. How?”
“Most of her clothes were missing. And she took both of our big suitcases.” He paused. “She was in a rush, too.”
“How do you know?”
His hands trembled more. “She left a few things behind. Some of her makeup and her hair dryer.” He glanced down at his shaking hands. “I don’t know why she would have left her boots.”
“Her boots?”
“Yes, she usually wore them whenever the snow threatened.” Pereau looked up at her. “And as you know, these days that is a constant threat.”
