“The last one, I suppose,” said Marissa. She still wasn’t sure what she was after-just some way to link Markham either to Dubchek or the CDC.
The machine whirred to life, documents flashing past on the screen so quickly that they appeared as a continuous blur. Then the woman pressed a button and showed Marissa how to regulate the speed. “It’s five cents a copy, if you want any. You put the money in here.” She pointed to a coin slot. “If you run into trouble, just yell.”
Marissa was intrigued by the apparatus as well as the information available. As she reviewed the names and addresses of all the contributors to Markham’s considerable reelection coffers, Marissa noted that he appeared to get fiscal support on a national scale, not just from his district in Texas. She did not think that was typical, except perhaps for the Speaker of the House or the Chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee. She also noted that a large percentage of the donors were physicians, which made sense in light of Markham’s record on health legislation.
The names were alphabetized, and though she carefully scanned the D’s, she failed to find Dubchek’s name. It had been a crazy idea anyway, she told herself. Where would Cyrill get the money to influence a powerful congressman? He might have some hold on Markham, but not a financial one. Marissa laughed. To think she considered Tad naive!
Still, she made a copy of all the contributors, deciding to go over the list at her leisure. She noticed that one doctor with six children had donated the maximum amount allowable for himself and for each member of his family. That was real support. At the end of the individual contributors was a list of corporate supporters. One called the “Physicians’ Action Congress Political Action Committee” had donated more money than any number of Texas oil companies. Going back to the previous election, Marissa found the same group. Clearly it was an established organization, and it had to be high on Markham.
After thanking the woman for her help, Marissa went outside and hailed a cab. As it inched through rush-hour traffic, Marissa looked again at the list of individual names. Suddenly, she almost dropped the sheets. Dr. Ralph Hempston’s name leapt out from the middle of a page. It was a coincidence, to be sure, and made her feel what a small world it was, but thinking it over she was not surprised. One of the things that had always troubled her about Ralph was his conservatism. It would be just like him to support a congressman like Markham.
It was five-thirty when Marissa crossed the pleasant lobby of her hotel. As she passed the tiny newsstand, she saw the Washington Post’s headline: EBOLA STRIKES AGAIN!
Like iron responding to a magnet, Marissa was pulled across the room. She snatched up a paper and read the subhead: NEWEST SCOURGE TERRIFIES THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE.
Digging up change from the bottom of her purse to buy the paper, she continued reading as she walked toward the elevators. There were three presumed cases of Ebola at the Berson Clinic Hospital in Abington, Pennsylvania, just outside of Philadelphia. The article described widespread panic in the suburban town.
As she pressed the button for her floor, Marissa saw that Dubchek was quoted as saying that he believed the outbreak would be contained quickly and that there was no need for concern: The CDC had learned a lot about controlling the virus from the three previous outbreaks.
Peter Carbo, one of Philadelphia’s Gay Rights leaders, was quoted as saying that he hoped Jerry Falwell had noticed that not a single known homosexual had contracted this new and far more dangerous disease that had come from the same area of Africa as AIDS had.
Back in her room, Marissa turned to an inside photo section. The picture of the police barricade at the entrance to the Berson Hospital reminded her of Phoenix. She finished the article and put the paper down on the bureau, looking at herself in the mirror. Although she was on vacation and was officially off the Ebola team, she knew she had to get the details firsthand. Her commitment to the Ebola problem left her with little choice. She rationalized her decision to go by telling herself that Philadelphia was practically next door to Washington; she could even go by train. Turning into the room, Marissa began collecting her belongings.