After a hesitation for Tad to remember where he was in his lecture, he recommenced. Marissa’s mind wandered. She made a mental note to write to Lab Engineering.
“So what do you think?” asked Tad when he finally finished.
“I’m impressed,” said Marissa, “. . . and very thirsty. Now let’s go get those drinks.”
On the way out, Tad took her into his tiny office and showed her how closely all his final results matched each other, suggesting that all the outbreaks were really one and the same.
“Have you compared the American strain with the African ones?” she asked him.
“Not yet,” admitted Tad.
“Do you have the same kind of charts or maps for them?”
“Sure do,” said Tad. He stepped over to his file cabinet and pulled out the lower drawer. It was so full that he had trouble extracting several manila folders. “Here’s the one for Sudan and here’s Zaire.” He stacked them on the desk and sat back down.
Marissa opened the first folder. The maps looked similar to her, but Tad pointed out significant differences in almost all of the six Ebola proteins. Then Marissa opened the second folder. Tad leaned forward and picked up one of the Zaire maps and placed it next to the ones he’d just completed.
“I don’t believe this.” He grabbed several other maps and placed them in a row on his desk.
“What?” asked Marissa.
“I’m going to have to run all these through a spectrophotometer tomorrow just to be sure.”
“Sure of what?”
“There’s almost complete structural homology here,” said Tad.
“Please,” said Marissa. “Speak English! What are you saying?”
“The Zaire ’76 strain is exactly the same as the strain from your three outbreaks.”
Marissa and Tad stared at one another for a few moments. Finally Marissa spoke. “That means there’s been just one outbreak from Zaire 1976 through Phoenix 1987.”
“That’s impossible,” said Tad, looking back at the maps.
“But that’s what you’re saying,” said Marissa.
“I know,” said Tad. “I guess it’s just a statistical freak.” He shook his head, his pale blue eyes returning to Marissa. “It’s amazing, that’s all I can say.”
After they crossed the catwalk to the main building, Marissa made Tad wait in her office while she sat and typed a short letter.
“Who’s so important that you have to write him tonight?” asked Tad.
“I just wanted to do it while it was on my mind,” said Marissa. She pulled the letter out of the machine and put it in an envelope. “There. It didn’t take too long, did it?” She searched her purse for a stamp. The addressee was Lab Engineering in South Bend, Indiana.
“Why on earth are you writing to them?” Tad asked.
“I want some information about a type 3 HEPA filtration system.” Tad stopped. “Why?” he asked with a glimmer of concern. He knew Marissa was impulsive. He wondered if taking her back into the maximum containment lab had been a mistake.
“Come on!” laughed Marissa. “If Dubchek continues to refuse me authorization to use the maximum containment lab, I’ll just have to build my own.”
Tad started to say something, but Marissa grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the elevators.
9
May 17
MARISSA GOT UP EARLY with a sense of purpose. It was a glorious spring morning, and she took full advantage of it by going jogging with Taffy. Even the dog seemed to revel in the fine weather, running circles about Marissa as they crisscrossed the neighborhood.
Back home again, Marissa showered, watched a portion of the Today Show while she dressed, and was on her way to the Center by eight-thirty. Entering her office, she deposited her purse in her file cabinet and sat down at her desk. She wanted to see if there was enough information available on Ebola viruses for her to calculate the statistical probability of the U.S. strain being the same as the 1976 Zairean strain. If the chances were as infinitesimally small as she guessed, then she’d have a scientific basis for her growing suspicions.
But Marissa did not get far. Centered on her green blotter was an interoffice memo. Opening it, she found a terse message telling her to come to Dr. Dubchek’s office immediately.