by Frank Perry
John was sure that the experience impacted Mary far more greatly that any of them understood, but he also sensed that she was going to be making some plans for the future. He kissed her on the cheek, and said he would see her again soon – promise.
Kelly called Charlie sometime in the late morning, telling him what had happened. He was shocked and glad nobody was hurt. They decided to go to the Institute after Mary left, but it was basically a waste of time. They spent several hours retelling their experience to concerned colleagues, never even getting to the labs.
Anxiety
“Charlie, you should have seen it. They all sat mystified by my presentation.” Jules had been in Charlie’s office early the next morning after meeting with the Saudis in New York, sometime after the sniper attack had happened to John and Kelly. “I guarantee they’ll make an offer. I bet they’re with the Hawk people right now hammering it out. I had a chance to talk to the partner in charge and got our message across that this needed to be a big number and don’t try to low ball. I let him know that it could be a deal killer.”
Charlie was excited. Until recently, the prospect of wealth and retirement was just a dream. It wasn’t reality. But listening to Jules now, the reality of it was taking hold. “When do you think we’ll hear? Should we just wait until they contact us? What if they don’t?”
“Gotta be patient partner … patient. I can hardly stand it myself, but you can bet that they need to get the okay from back home. Deals this big can’t be decided by three shmucks alone.”
“So, how high will they go, Jules? What did you tell them?”
“Nothing! See, Charlie, that’s the strategy in business negotiations (which neither of them had done before). You don’t ever want to set a price, not in the beginning. Let them come up with a number. I just let ‘em know that it would be a waste of time and probably kill it from our side if they were unrealistic, and I made it crystal clear that it had to be huge.”
Charlie smiled so wide his ears seemed to recede back into his head. “I can’t wait to hear, Jules! You’re the man!” Both were awkward giving high-fives, something out of character.
Marie knocked on the door and announced a phone call for either of them. Charlie pressed the button, and they both listened on the speaker. “Jules, Charlie … we just got word on Lorne’s death.”
Abagael was calling from the WHO van as they headed back toward Kambia. Jules spoke first, “Go ahead, Abagael.” They instinctively both leaned closer to the phone to hear well.
“I just heard from an Air Force Doctor in Texas. She’s a surgeon who is doing the examination. They found his body mutilated by internal failure. The cause was a new pathogen, a new form of VHF.”
Charlie spoke. “You mean he died of Ebola? Where did he come in contact? He was only on the ground less than a day when he got sick.”
She answered. “My guess is Kambia or the hotel. He wanted to go to the hotel and it made some sense after his long trip. He was at the hotel for a couple hours, then we went there straight away to Kambia because they had been experiencing problems with their water supply and some increases in infections that the local clinic could not diagnose. It’s fairly common here, but Lorne didn’t want to take any chances. He wanted to go there immediately.”
Jules this time. “But, Abagael, are there other cases?”
“No. So far, no. No one had died in Kambia when we got there, and most of the patients were treated and released, apparently without any further problems. No indication of Ebola. We only were there for approximately an hour then turned back toward Conakry for his hotel again. He was not feeling too well, and we suspected that he suffered from the trip. You know the rest.”
Both scientists were bewildered. Charlie observed to no one in particular, “He couldn’t have gotten sick in Kambia. The incubation for Ebola takes days, even a couple weeks before symptoms are seen, and he wouldn’t have died that quickly unless it was well along. He would have to have been sick before leaving the states.”
She agreed. “Yes. I agree. It’s a mystery, but now we need to go back to Kambia to be sure there is no disease. It is highly unlikely that Lorne became so sick from a short visit, but we must check all possibilities with the medical authorities. We also need to warn them to be observing all patients now. It is possible that he may have infected people there.”
“Abagael, this is Jules. How are you feeling?”
Question
Elsewhere, John and Kelly were alone in her apartment that evening, reconstructing the day. She asked, “What’s this all about John? That man was trying to shoot us, or maybe just me, or just you?” She trembled, trying to maintain her composure.
He answered thoughtfully. “I have no idea, Kell. This has all become too weird. There’s no explanation that I can think of. It might be connected: Lorne’s warning, his death, our friendship … I just don’t have a clue. I hope the police wil find something out.”
Almost on cue, John’s mobile rang. “Mr. Hollis, this is Detective McAlister, at the Baltimore PD. We met this morning after the assault at Miss Egan’s apartment.” He acknowledged her, looking at Kelly and switching to speaker so she could hear. “We’ve started talking to the alleged perpetrator. His name is Cordell Shipman and he doesn’t have a permanent address, although he’s from the area and has a former wife and children in the region. Anyway, he’s cooperating. He almost seems to want to go to prison. I don’t want to be too judgmental, but it looks like it would be an improvement in living conditions for him.” John remembered the smell.
“So, he’s talking. What’s this all about, Detective?”
“I can’t tell you everything, but can you and Miss Egan come to the PD in the morning? I’d like to get some more facts from you and maybe share some more information.”
They agreed to be there at nine o’clock in the morning and left a voice mail for Charlie to expect them to be late again in the morning.
Kelly asked John to spend the night with her. She felt safe around him. His whole demeanor had changed. He had changed with their circumstance; she didn’t really know how to rationalize it, something she had always been able to do, but John was different, and she felt safer just having him around. She knew he’d been in combat before, but he would never discuss it. Now, she’d seen him react, confronting danger. It was part of his past. She had panicked and curled between cars, protecting Mary. She would have been helpless if the shooter had been able to come at them. She was paralyzed and thought that anyone else would have reacted the same way. There was a gun! Guns kill, and she didn’t want to die. John not only recognized the danger before the shot, he’d been completely cool. It wasn’t natural. He reacted instantly, pushing both women out of sight, and then he charged as the shot missed. It seemed like suicide, yet he wasn’t crazy. Somehow he knew, or sensed, that the shooter would panic. John charged him! Who charges toward someone pointing a gun at you? He wasn’t intending to die, he just knew what he had to do, and did it. She realized how much she didn’t know about him and what he was capable of. In an undefinable way, it scarred her, but she also wanted him protecting her that night.
It could have been awkward. They hadn’t ever spent a whole night together before. John went back to his apartment and packed some clothes, not really knowing what to expect. When he returned, he assumed he’d be on the couch. They had the TV running through the evening, but didn’t really watch anything. The ambush and suspicions about work dominated their discussion. When it was late, Kelly gestured for John to stay with her. They had cuddled in bed but had no deeper physical contact than a kiss goodnight. Neither slept soundly.
In the morning, they left early. Baltimore traffic was terrible during rush hour, and it took almost an hour to drive the beltway around the city. Police headquarters was on the north side. When they arrived, John asked for Sharon McAlister, Sergeant of Detectives, and they were escorted to a small con
ference room. The escorting officer offered them coffee, which John accepted, black. Kelly wasn’t interested. They didn’t wait long. The Detective came into the room with a thin manila folder and a pad of paper. She closed the door, eliminating background noise from all the phone calls in-process outside. McAlister was tall for a woman, almost six feet wearing flats. She was middle-aged, but women’s ages were impossible for John to guess. Her thick glasses obscured dark circles and deep creases at the corners. Her appearance was of a hard-working woman in a position mostly reserved for men. Neither John nor Kelly had any doubts about McAlister’s qualifications. As she closed the door behind her, it seemed like every desk officer on the floor was talking to someone about a crime or an emergency.
The detective started by showing them a picture of the shooter and the awful conditions he lived in. “First of all, are either of you familiar with this man?” They looked at the picture and both shook their heads. “I’m not surprised. From what Mr. Shipman says, he doesn’t know you either.”
“Then what was
