The man checked the hall quickly, then closed and secured the door. Marissa ran to the bathroom, grabbing what she thought was the gun off the far bed. She had almost managed to get the bathroom door closed before the man reached it.
Marissa wedged her back against the sink and tried to keep her attacker from opening the door further. But, little by little, his greater strength prevailed. The door cracked open, enabling him to get the arm with the frozen elbow hooked around the jamb.
Marissa eyed the wall phone but couldn’t reach it without taking her feet off the door. She looked at the weapon in her hand, wondering if it would scare the man if she were to fire a bullet at the wall. That was when she realized she was holding an air-powered vaccination gun of the kind used for mass inoculations in her old pediatrics clinic.
The door had opened enough for the man to move his arm more freely. He blindly groped until he got a grip on one of Marissa’s ankles. Feeling she had little choice, Marissa pressed the vaccination gun against the man’s forearm and discharged it. The man screamed. The arm was withdrawn, and the door slammed shut.
She heard him run across the room, open the door to the hail and rush out. Going back into the bedroom, Marissa breathed a sigh of relief, only to be startled by a strong odor of phenolic disinfectant. Turning the vaccinator toward herself with a shaky hand, she examined the circular business end. Intuitively, she sensed the gun contained Ebola virus, and she guessed that the disinfectant she smelled was part of a mechanism to prevent exposure to the operator. Now she was truly terrified. Not only had she possibly killed a man, she might also have triggered a new outbreak. Forcing herself to remain calm, she carefully placed the gun in a plastic bag that she took from the wastebasket and then got another plastic bag from the basket under the desk and placed it over the first, knotting it closed. For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should call the police. Then she decided there was nothing they could do. The man was far away by now, and if the vaccination gun did contain Ebola, there was no way they could find him quietly if he didn’t want to be found.
Marissa looked out into the hall. It was clear. She put a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, then carried her belongings, including the plastic bag with the vaccination gun, down to housekeeping. There were no cleaning people in sight. She found a bottle of Lysol and disinfected the outside of the plastic bag. Then she washed and disinfected her hands. She couldn’t think of anything else to do prophylactically.
In the lobby, where there were enough people to make Marissa feel reasonably safe, she called the Illinois State Epidemiologist. Without identifying herself, she explained that room 2410 at the Palmer House might have been contaminated with Ebola virus. Before the man could gasp out a single question, she hung up.
Next, she called Tad. All this activity was enabling her to avoid thinking about what had just happened. Tad’s initial coolness thawed when he realized that she was on the verge of hysteria.
“What on earth is going on now?” he asked. “Marissa, are you all right?”
“I have to ask two favors. After the trouble I’ve caused you, I’d vowed that I wouldn’t bother you again. But I have no choice. First, I need a vial of the convalescent serum from the L.A. outbreak. Could you send it by overnight carrier to Carol Bradford at the Plaza Hotel in New York?”
“Who the hell is Carol Bradford?”
“Please don’t ask any questions,” said Marissa, struggling to keep from bursting into tears. “The less you know at this point, the better.” Carol Bradford had been one of Marissa’s college roommates; it was the name she’d used on the flight from Atlanta to Chicago.
“The next favor involves a parcel I’m sending you by overnight carrier. Please, do not open it. Take it inside the maximum containment lab and hide it.” Marissa paused.