Outbreak by Robin Cook. Part four

Marissa was again speechless. The idea of a United States Congressman calling the head of the CDC to have her removed from the Ebola investigation seemed unbelievable. “Congressman Markham used my name specifically?” asked Marissa, when she found her voice.

“Yes,” said Dr. Carbonara. “Believe me, I questioned it, too.”

“But why?” asked Marissa.

“There was no explanation,” said Dr. Carbonara. “And it was more of an order than a request. For political reasons, we have no choice. I think you can understand.”

Marissa shook her head. “That’s just it, I don’t understand. But it does make me change my mind about that vacation offer. I think I need the time after all.”

“Splendid,” said Dr. Carbonara. “I’ll arrange it-effective immediately. After a rest you can make a fresh start. I want to reassure you that we have no quarrel with your work. In fact we have been impressed by your performance. Those Ebola outbreaks had us all terrified. You’ll be a significant addition to the staff working on enteric bacteria, and I’m sure you will enjoy the woman who heads the division, Dr. Harriet Samford.”

Marissa headed home, her mind in turmoil. She’d counted on work to distract her from Taffy’s brutal death; and while she’d thought there’d been a chance she’d be fired, she’d never considered she’d be given a vacation. Vaguely she wondered if she should ask Ralph if he was serious about that Caribbean trip. Yet such an idea was not without disadvantages. While she liked him as a friend, she wasn’t sure if she were ready for anything more.

Her empty house was quiet without Taffy’s exuberant greeting. Marissa had an overwhelming urge to go back to bed and pull the covers over her head, but she knew that would mean yielding to the

depression she was determined to fight off. She hadn’t really accepted Dr. Carbonara’s story as an excuse for shuffling her off the Ebola case. A casual recommendation from a congressman usually didn’t produce such fast results. She was sure if she checked she would discover Markham was a friend of Dubchek’s. Eyeing her bed with its tempting ruffled pillows, she resolved not to give in to her usual pattern of withdrawal. The last reactive depression, after Roger left, was too fresh in her mind. Instead of just giving in and accepting the situation, which was what she’d done then, she told herself that she had to do something. The question was what.

Sorting her dirty clothes, intending to do a therapeutic load of wash, she spotted her packed suitcase. It was like an omen.

Impulsively, she picked up the phone and called Delta to make a reservation for the next flight to Washington, D.C.

“There’s an information booth just inside the door,” said the knowledgeable cab driver as he pointed up the stairs of the Cannon Congressional Office Building.

Once inside, Marissa went through a metal detector while a uniformed guard checked the contents of her purse. When she asked for Congressman Markham’s office she was told that it was on the fifth floor. Following the rather complicated directions-it seemed that the main elevators only went to the fourth floor-Marissa was struck by the general dinginess of the interior of the building. The walls of the elevator were actually covered with graffiti.

Despite the circuitous route, she had no trouble finding the office. The outer door was ajar, so she walked in unannounced, hoping an element of surprise might work in her favor. Unfortunately, the congressman was not in.

“He’s not due back from Houston for three days. Would you like to make an appointment?”

“I’m not sure,” said Marissa, feeling a little silly after having flown all the way from Atlanta without checking to see if the man would be in town, let alone available.

“Would you care to talk with Mr. Abrams, the congressman’s administrative assistant?”

“I suppose,” said Marissa. In truth she hadn’t been certain how to confront Markham. If she merely asked if he had tried to do Dubchek a favor by figuring out a way to remove her from the Ebola case, obviously he would deny it. While she was still deliberating, an earnest young man came up to her and introduced himself as Michael Abrams. “What can I do for you?” he asked, extending a hand. He

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