CV

30

Bliss, after waffling for two days, finally gave his permission on Tuesday. On Wednesday morning, when the first patient came in, McNulty found out where she had been stricken—it was a coffee shop down on E Deck. As soon as the patient was in bed and the tube down her nose, he called the Woodruffs and asked them to meet him in the forward lobby in E. He put on a jacket in place of his white coat, took the hypo out of the refrigerator and slipped it into his pocket. He felt like an ax murderer.

“Let’s go, Lori,” he said to the security woman who was waiting in the outer office with a wheelchair. “Remember, you stay behind us, and don’t come up till I call you."

Emily and Jim Woodruff were sitting on a banquette in the lobby. Jim got up when he saw McNulty approaching. “I had a hard time keeping her here. She wants to go looking, she thinks it’s somewhere close.”

“Good,” said McNulty. “Emily, are you all set?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s just stroll around. If you hear that noise, you tell me right away.”

“I’m sure he's here,” she said. “Jim wouldn’t let me look before.”

“That’s right, because we had to get everything ready.”

A few people were in the lobby, looking hostile and suspicious. They glanced into the coffee shop, which was empty except for the waitress and counterman. Lori Applewhite, the security woman, was following them a few paces behind. As they reached the far side of the lobby, a man came out of the restroom. Emily’s face took on a rapt expression. “There he is,” she whispered.

“Him, right there?”

McNulty signaled to Applewhite, who nodded and wheeled her chair past them. The man, gray-haired and slender, was walking rapidly away. “Sir,” she called.

The man turned. “Yes?”

“Security. Will you show me your ID, please?”

McNulty and the Woodruffs were walking past. “Keep on going,” McNulty muttered.

The man reached into his pocket. “What’s this about?”

McNulty turned, got the hypo, slipped off the cap, stuck the needle into the back of the man’s neck and pressed the plunger. He yanked the hypo out again barely in time to catch the body as it fell.

Janice was waiting for them in the room at the end of the isolation corridor. They laid the man out on the bed, loosened his necktie. McNulty took the opportunity to glance into his wallet: the man’s name was Roger Cooke, and he had a driver’s license from Maine. He glanced up at the TV camera mounted at the comer of the ceiling. “Is that thing working?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“I must say it seems to have worked,” Bliss said. “How is he taking it?”

“He doesn’t like it, but he’s pretty calm. He says he’s going to sue us. We’re giving him priority on room service; he can get anything he wants.”

“Well, that’s a relief. My hat is off to you, Doctor. Have you had any thoughts about what to do with him when we get to Guam?”

“I’ve talked to the health commissioner there. We’re trying to work something out—a coast-guard ship anchored offshore maybe. It would be better to get him to Manila. There’s a lot of red tape, but I think we can put it all together. What the hell they’ll do with him I don’t know, but at least it’ll be out of our hands.”

“Thank God.”

After three days Sea Venture was almost back to normal; the restaurants were full, the corridors crowded and cheerful. On the fourth day, early in the morning, McNulty got a call from the security guard who was watching Cooke’s room on television. Cooke appeared to be in convulsions.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, McNulty went there with a nurse and opened the room. The nurse was the first one to reach the patient. McNulty knelt beside her, got the man’s jaw open to make sure he wasn’t biting his tongue. When he looked up, the nurse was on her feet, swaying a little. She took two steps toward the door, then fell like a tree. Before he could call out, McNulty heard another body fall in the corridor.

Cooke was dead; there was a line of victims in the hall. The horror had escaped.