Jack had one more call to make, and as he dialed the long-distance number he superstitiously crossed the middle and index fingers of his left hand. He was calling Nicole Marquette at the CDC, and Jack was hoping for two things. First, he wanted to hear that the sample had arrived.
Second, he wanted Nicole to say that the titer was high, meaning there were enough viral particles to test without having to wait to grow it out.
As the call went through Jack glanced at his watch. It was nearing seven P.M.. He scolded himself for not having called earlier, thinking he’d have to wait until morning to reach Nicole. But after dialing the extension for the influenza unit, he got Nicole immediately.
“It arrived here fine,” Nicole said in response to his query. “And I have to give you credit for packing it so well. The refrigerant pack and the Styrofoam kept the sample well preserved.”
“What about the titer?” Jack asked.
“I was impressed with that too,” Nicole said. “Where was this sample from?”
“Bronchiole washings,” Jack said.
Nicole gave a short whistle. “With this concentration of virus it’s got to be one hell of a virulent strain. Either that, or a compromised host.”
“It’s a virulent strata all right,” Jack said. “The victim was a young healthy male. Besides that, one of the nurses taking care of him is already in the ICU herself in acute respiratory distress. That’s in less than twenty-four hours after exposure.”
“Wow! I’d better do this typing immediately. In fact, I’ll stay here tonight. Are there any more cases besides the nurse?”
“Three others that I know about,” Jack said.
“I’ll call in the morning,” Nicole said. Then she hung up.
Jack was mildly taken aback by the precipitous end to the conversation, but he was pleased that Nicole was as motivated as she’d apparently become.
Jack replaced the phone receiver, and as he did so, he noticed the tremble of his hand. He took a few deep breaths and tried to decide what to do. He was concerned about going home. He had no way of gauging Warren’s reaction to Slam’s death. He also wondered if yet another assassin would be sent after him.
The unexpected ring of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the phone but didn’t pick it up while he tried to think who it could be. As late as it was, he had to shake off some irrational thoughts, like the worry it might be the man who’d tried to kill him that afternoon.
Finally, Jack picked up the phone. To his relief, it was Terese.
“You promised you would call, she said accusingly. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you forgot.”
“I’ve been on the phone,” Jack said. “In fact, I just this second got off.”
“Well, all right, Terese said. But I’ve been ready to eat for an hour. Why don’t you come to the restaurant directly from work?”
“Oh, jeez, Terese,” Jack voiced. With everything that had happened he’d totally forgotten about their dinner plans.
“Don’t tell me you are going to try to cop out,” Terese said.
“I’ve had a wicked day,” Jack said.
“So have I,” Terese countered. “You promised, and as I said this morning, you have to eat. Tell me, did you have lunch?”
“No,” Jack said.
“Well, there you go,” Terese said. “You can’t skip dinner as well as lunch. Come on! I’ll understand if you have to go back to work. I might myself.”
Terese was making a lot of sense. He needed to eat something even if he wasn’t hungry, and he needed to relax. Besides, knowing Terese’s persistence he didn’t expect she’d take no for an answer, and Jack did not have the energy for an argument.
“Are you thinking or what?” Terese asked impatiently. “Jack, please! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. We can compare war stories and have a vote whose day was the worst.”
Jack was weakening. Suddenly having dinner with Terese sounded wonderfully appealing. He was concerned about putting her at risk simply through proximity, but he doubted anyone was trailing him now. If they were, he could certainly shake them on the way to the restaurant.