Page 20 of The Shadow Friends

“Has he woken up?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Is he at least breathing?”

A pause. Chatterjee’s gaze faltered. He’s trying to avoid telling me the truth, she thought. “Dr. Maslov is on a ventilator,” he finally said. “There are respiratory issues, as well as other complications. But as I said, he has an excellent medical team.” Chatterjee glanced at Stamoran. “And as luck would have it, we have in town one of the world’s top infectious disease experts.”

Maggie nodded. “I heard Dr. Stamoran speak last night at the conference, so I’m familiar with his CV.”

“Then you also know you’re in good hands.”

Stamoran smiled. “And we’ll take care of you.”

“I’m hoping I don’t need any care. What are the chances this isn’t Ebola at all? Couldn’t it be something like food poisoning?”

“That’s possible,” said Chatterjee. “But Dr. Maslov’s low lymphocyte count is compatible with a viral infection. His PCR screen is still negative for Ebola and Lassa fever, but it’s early in the course. Until we can rule out something more dangerous, we have to err on the side of caution, so I think Dr. Stamoran made the proper call, keeping you in isolation. It’s a matter of public safety. And you’re comfortable enough here, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to have my phone back.”

“They took your phone?” Chatterjee looked at Stamoran.

“It was exposed to Maslov’s hotel room, so it’s been disinfected,” said Stamoran. “It’ll be returned to her.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” said Maggie. “I have a farm to run.”

“Ah, yes. I understand you’re a chicken farmer,” said Chatterjee. “I imagine that’s a lot of physical work. You certainly look fit. And you’re sixty-one?”

That was hardly ancient, although a young man like Dr. Chatterjee might think so. “I consider myself fit,” she said.

“And that will make a difference. Having no preexisting illnesses and a healthy immune system.”

“If I do get sick, what will be the first signs? I don’t have my phone, or I’d google it.”

Her question clearly made Chatterjee uncomfortable, and he didn’t immediately respond.

It was Stamoran who answered. Last night at the conference, he had delivered a matter-of-fact description of mass death and global catastrophe. Now he answered her question with that same matter-of-fact voice. “It will present like any number of viral illnesses. Muscle aches, headache. Fatigue, maybe a fever. Those are nonspecific symptoms, so even if you do experience them, it doesn’t mean you have Ebola.”

“And then what happens?”

“It progresses to abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, sometimes bloody. Patients may bleed from other orifices as well, like the mouth, or sites of needle punctures. It can progress to multiorgan failure.”

“But at least half of these patients survive,” said Chatterjee. “And there is a vaccine now, which we’ve requested on a rush basis from CDC. As soon as it gets here, you’ll receive a dose.”

“What about Dr. Maslov?”

“There are monoclonal antibodies we can give him, and those are also on their way here. So you see, there are therapies available. It’s not a death sentence, if they’re given early enough.”

“Is it early enough for Dr. Maslov?”

Chatterjee hesitated. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. His condition is critical. He was a healthy man, but he was working in an Ebola hot zone and possibly exposed to large viral loads. Humanitarian work can be dangerous.”

As she had discovered. Yet she had not hesitated in that hotel room when she’d seen Maslov collapsed on the floor. She had made the choice to save his life, and this was the consequence: She was trapped in a hospital room, possibly incubating a virus that could kill her.

After Stamoran and Chatterjee left, she paced the room again, considering that question. Could she ever again look at herself in a mirror if she abandoned a man she might have saved? Some choices were too painful to be lived with. She knew, because she’d made more than a few during her career, choices she still regretted.

There was another knock on her door. This time it was a nurse, returning Maggie’s cell phone, zipped in a plastic bag. At last, her conduit to the outside world was restored. She took it out of the bag and powered it up. It dinged again and again with a string of text messages from Declan.

Call me!