Marissa swallowed nervously. She’d always been uncomfortable with the order not to resuscitate.
“Dr. Alexi,” called Marissa, gingerly touching the man’s arm. Slowly he turned his head to face her. She noticed a large bruise beneath his right eye.
“Can you hear me, Dr. Alexi?”
The man nodded.
“Have you been to Africa recently?”
Dr. Alexi shook his head “no.”
“Did you attend an eyelid surgery conference in San Diego a few months back?”
The man mouthed the word “yes.”
Perhaps Dubchek really was right. It was too much of a coincidence: each outbreak’s primary victim was an ophthalmologist who’d attended that San Diego meeting.
“Dr. Alexi,” began Marissa, choosing her words carefully. “Do you have friends in L.A., St. Louis or Phoenix? Have you seen them recently?”
But before Marissa had finished, he’d slipped back into unconsciousness.
“That’s what he’s been doing,” said the nurse, moving to the opposite side of the bed to take another blood-pressure reading.
Marissa hesitated. Perhaps she’d wait a few minutes and try to question him again. Her attention returned to the bruise beneath the man’s eye, and she asked the nurse if she knew how he’d gotten it.
“His wife told me he’d been robbed,” said the nurse. Then she added, “His blood pressure is even lower.” She shook her head in dismay as she put down the stethoscope.
“He was robbed just before he got sick?” asked Marissa. She wanted to be sure she’d heard correctly.
“Yes. I think the mugger hit him in the face even though he didn’t resist.”
An intercom sputtered to life. “Marie, is there a doctor from the CDC in your room?”
The nurse looked from the speaker to Marissa, then back to the speaker again. “Yes, there is.”
Over the continued crackle of static, indicating that the line was still open, Marissa could hear a woman saying, “She’s in Dr. Alexi’s room.” Another voice said, “Don’t say anything! I’ll go down and talk with her.”
Marissa’s pulse raced. It was Dubchek! Frantically, she looked around the room as if to hide. She thought of asking the nurse if there were another way out, but she knew it would sound ridiculous, and it was too late. She could already hear footsteps in the hall.
Cyrill walked in, adjusting his protective goggles.
“Marie?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the nurse.
Marissa started for the door. Dubchek grabbed her by the arm. Marissa froze. It was ridiculous to have a confrontation of this sort in the presence of a dying man. She was scared of Dubchek’s reaction, knowing how many rules she had probably broken. At the same time, she was angry at having been forced to break them.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled. He would not let go of her arm.
“Have some respect for the patient, if not for anyone else,” said Marissa, finally freeing herself and leaving the room. Dubchek was right behind her. She pulled off the goggles, the outer hood and gown, then the gloves, and deposited them all in the proper receptacle. Dubchek did the same.
“Are you making a career out of flouting authority?” he demanded, barely controlling his fury. “Is this all some kind of game to you?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” said Marissa. She could tell that Dubchek, for the moment, was beyond any reasonable discussion. She started toward the elevators.
“What do you mean, you’d ‘rather not talk about it’?” yelled Dubchek. “Who do you think you are?”
He grabbed Marissa’s arm again and yanked her around to face
“I think we should wait until you are a little less upset,” Marissa managed to say as calmly as she could.
“Upset?” exploded Dubchek. “Listen, young lady, I’m calling Dr. Morrison first thing in the morning to demand that he make you take a forced leave of absence rather than a vacation. If he refuses, I’ll demand a formal hearing.”
“That’s fine by me,” said Marissa maintaining a fragile control. “There is something extraordinary about these Ebola outbreaks, and I think you don’t want to face it. Maybe a formal hearing is what we need.”
“Get out of here before I have you thrown out,” snapped Dubchek.