WARNING: PART TWO INCLUDES MATURE MATERIAL (E.G., FOUL LANGUAGE, PROSTITUTION, RAPE, AND MURDER).

Jaye Michael

PART TWO: CONVOLUTION

Chapter Sixteen: Palingenesis

I enjoy convalescence.
It is the part that makes illness worthwhile.
– George Bernard Shaw

SENIOR AUTHOR’S NOTE: In order to present selected sequences of events more clearly, chronologies in this chapter overlap with those in the preceding chapter. The serious historian may wish to review this material in true chronological order.

OCTOBER 13, 10:45 A.M., MONTIFIORE HOSPITAL, 1190 RIVERVIEW DRIVE, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

“You’re telling me that my son has a viral infection of unknown type, that he has a body temperature of a hundred and six degrees, that his body weight is dropping a pound an hour, and that his penis and testicles are retracting AND that you haven’t the foggiest idea why it’s happening or what to do about it?” Jack Goldman, multimillionaire, industrialist and father of Congressman Frank Goldman was ready to “chew the ignorant young pup of an intern in front of him another asshole,” as he was fond of saying.

“Our family physician will be here within the next half hour. My son is to be released into his care and we will provide for transportation to Cresthaven Hospital where he will receive proper care and treatment.” Jack Goldman, having stated reality as it was to be, prepared to leave.

“Sir,” The intern’s voice quavered. “I’m afraid that’s not possible sir.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Mr. Goldman turned back, his expression ominous.

“I’m very sorry, but your son is under infectious disease control precautions in a sealed environment with a specialized positive air-flow and waste air scrubbing unit. A representative of the Center for Disease Control will be here shortly to arrange for transfer to an even more secure environment at Walter Reed Hospital outside of Washington, D.C. And sir, before you decide to pursue this any farther, please realize that the reason he is being transferred to Walter Reed is that they have the equipment and expertise to do what I’ve already admitted we can’t do–that no one can do except at Walter Reed. When he gets here, your own physician will admit he can’t do either. I mean treat your son’s illness.”

It was a nice speech. The intern had practiced it has he ran from his latest emergency meeting to deal with the old fool. Yet he still worriedly watched the older man’s face as it screwed up in to an expression of total rage, while his color changed from its original ruddy color into deep red and then beyond, to purple. Just as he looked about collapse from an aneurysm, the older Goldman gulped, took a deep breath and physically deflated.

“Fine, as long as my son gets everything–and I mean everything–he needs.” He walked over to a nearby chair and slumped down into it looking very old and weak.

OCTOBER 13, 12:20 P.M., MONTIFIORE HOSPITAL, 1190 RIVERVIEW DRIVE, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

They were all back in the hospital conference room when the Army MedEvac helicopter interrupted the conversation as it left, carrying the Congressman, his father, and their family physician.

The intern smiled as he imagined the elder Goldman demanding that the pilot “get this contraption to D.C. now!” Not that he blamed the old codger, really. Whatever bug it was that had bitten his son, it was a nasty one. Suddenly the intern’s smile faded as he recalled the sight of the Congressman’s testicles sinking into the skin of his scrotal area. My God, he thought to himself with a shudder, I certainly hope that the isolation regimen was adequate.

“Uh-Humm. People,” the CDC representative, a tall but skeletally thin, middle-aged woman with the unlikely name of Jane Doe, slapped her hand on the table several times seeking attention, “I’d like to get back to business please.” The various side conversations and mumblings gradually died down as the helicopter’s whirr faded into the distance.

“Thank you,” she continued with a smile on her face, but sad, tired eyes–much like those of everyone else around the table. “Now that the Congressman is off to Walter Reed, I’m sure you’ll see that his room is thoroughly disinfected.” She glanced at the Chief of Medicine.

“We’ve reviewed the disease manifestations and it is unlike anything CDC has seen to date. There are at least six other known cases. We are working as fast as we can to identify and trace back any possible disease vectors. It is our hope to have all current potential vectors under quarantine within the next twenty four hours.

“Again, thank you for permitting this hospital to be used as a base of operations and collection point for disease carriers. If my information is correct, the first two patients will be arriving within the hour.”

The Chief of Medicine nodded, but several others looked worried and a low murmur began again. Annoyed by the less than positive response she spoke over the murmurings.

“And yes, we will be moving them to an alternative quarantine site as soon as they’ve completed their initial intake and diagnosis here. Transportation is being arranged as we speak.

“To continue, although we are not entirely confident regarding the disease’s mode of transmission yet, we have begun making hypotheses,” the CDC representative spoke louder to be clearly heard. “First, it seems to be transferred via bodily fluids. At least, at this time there is no evidence of airborne transmittal, however, just to be certain, we’re asking you to instruct your staff to continue to take all infection control precautions, not just those for blood borne pathogens.”

The Chief of Medicine nodded again, this time in agreement.

“Are there any questions?

“No?

“Good.” She began packing her briefcase. “Oh, and remember, all media contacts will be through a CDC representative and only a CDC representative.”

OCTOBER 14, 7:55 P.M., MONTIFIORE HOSPITAL, 1190 RIVERVIEW DRIVE, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

The hospital conference room was again in use. This time it was filled with several very tired CDC infection control specialists. A blackboard had been wheeled in and bits of information were scribbled all over it.

“Okay everyone. Let’s go over what we have. As usual, we need to answer several questions. What is the source of the infection? What is the method of transmission? How do we treat it and contain it?”

Jane sat back and considered her colleagues; three of the five she new well. Dr. Roger LeSault, Epidemiologist, was tall, at least six foot three and thin like her, probably less than a hundred and fifty pounds, with crew-cut fiery red hair and the proverbial horn-rim glasses. It was amazing how he never seemed to get a headache like Jane had after so long without sleep. His repetitive tapping at the side of his glasses while he concentrated was not helping her head. She debated asking him to stop yet again, but knew it was useless. The habit was so ingrained he never realized he was doing it.

Dr. Elva Johnson, an Internist and specialist in Infectious Diseases, was about as opposite as one could be from Jane, being black (actually a rather entrancing light chocolate), short at only four foot eleven and a bit on the plump side at about a hundred and thirty pounds. She had straightened black hair pulled back into a tight, unflattering bun, but it actually served to accentuate her best feature. Elva had remarkably smooth and blemish free skin. She was here because her diagnostic skills were outstanding, probably the best in the agency.

Paul Perkins, CSW, was average–medium height, medium weight, medium brown hair and brown eyes–but he was a trained social worker with an uncanny ability to draw people out and get information from them they did not know they had. He was at the blackboard, scratching way with a short stub of chalk as he filled in information new information he had obtained from his last set of interviews. Each piece added a bit more background to what had happened to each of the people they were currently treating for whatever this disease was.

The intern–Dr. Doe thought his name was Jack Rodale–reminded her of a surfer. He had long, flowing dirty blonde hair and tanned skin. He also had shown remarkable skill identifying and treating the early groups of quarantined patients. Finally, as primary physician for all but one of the victims of the disease, he was knowledgeable regarding their treatment histories.

The last one, a Captain Schultz, made her uncomfortable. He appeared to be a narrow-minded martinet; more interested in minutiae then mysteries like this contagion. At least twice, he had chimed in with irrelevancies that interrupted the group’s chain of thought. She wasn’t quite sure why the CDC had saddled her with an intra-agency observer, but she was very certain indeed that she didn’t like the intrusion into her work. She hoped he would remain quiet and unobtrusive in the future, although she was not optimistic.

“Let’s start with the source,” Dr. Doe said tiredly. “Can anyone see anything that looks like a pattern? We need to find the source–and fast.” The CDC representative held her face in her hands, elbows on the table to keep her exhausted head facing the blackboard. No one responded.

“Okay,” Jane sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Paul, would you please summarize what we know about where our patients have been and what they have done for the last week. Maybe it will jog someone’s memory.”

“Sure.” Paul pointed at the first name on the blackboard. “I’ll start from the top and work down. First, we have Marge Scarlucci, a housewife from Brooklyn. In the last week, she’s been at home except for two outings. One was for a grocery shopping trip on Wednesday the eleventh to the K-mart ®, three blocks from her house in Paramus. She walked there. She bought assorted groceries and meats, but before getting sick she only used some hot sausage and canned tomato sauce. Neither of these are connectors, as we’ve confirmed that at least ten other people bought the same things and have had no symptoms.

“Her other trip was to her mother’s house in Tenafly. She drove. No stops, nothing unusual eaten and her mother’s fine.

“We can assume she caught this from her husband. Her symptoms seemed to appear several hours behind those of her husband.” Dr. LeSault poked his finger at the next name on the blackboard.

“Yes. That’s the husband, George Scarlucci, construction worker, currently unemployed. He insists that his friend and he were at the union hall all day each day from Monday until Friday when he first showed symptoms. His friend, who has no symptoms, confirms his story, but I have a feeling they’re hiding something. The rest of the time, he was at home and his wife confirms that. As for meals, all three agree that he ate lunches packed at home by Marge.”

“Yeah, apparently his friend–what’s his name?” Captain Schultz interrupted.
“Anyway, his friend remembers that he was angry at George because George didn’t even want to stop for some fast food on, what day was that? Tuesday I think.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Dr. Doe sighed in frustration, but smiled politely as she redirected the conversation back to something useful. “Paul? Anything more on George?”

“Well, the union hall is located in midtown New York.”

“Yes, it was Tuesday. Oh, and his friend’s name was Rick. Rick Garlucci.”

“Thank you again, Captain.” It was getting hard to ignore his inane interruptions. “May we continue? Paul?”

“That’s pretty much it for George. We do have two couples with some congruencies to their week. Phil Greeleaf is an office worker at Jacklee Inc., located on the fourteenth floor of the Chrysler Building. No one else at his workplace has gotten sick. He lives in the Pelham area of the Bronx. He ate out for every meal that week, each time at a different restaurant. None of our other patients has been to any of these restaurants and again no one else we can identify who has been at or works at one of these restaurants with similar symptoms.”

“So where’s the congruency?” Dr. Johnson wondered, tired and impatient.

“He, and our next patient, Phil Chen both picked up a hooker not far from Chinatown.”

“What did the hooker look like?”

“Well, Captain, neither gives a very good description, beyond curly blonde hair and a nice body.”

“Yes, then again the more appropriate question is, ‘Where is the congruence?’” Dr. Johnson had started to ask, but Dr. LaSault interrupted.

“While they don’t remember the hooker very well, they do remember that she was very quiet and that there was another hooker with her who seemed to be making the deal for her and making her work.”

“You think it’s the same person?” Dr. Doe asked, looking up, tired but hopeful.

“Same person? Same day?” Captain Schultz suddenly seemed interested also.
“There’s not enough corroboration to say it’s the same person,” Paul noted cautiously as he stared at the notes on the blackboard as if he could will the information on it into a clear pattern, “but I suspect so, it was the same location, Houston and Canal, on the same day.”

“Anything we can follow up on?” Dr. Doe asked hopefully.

“Not that I can tell, Dr. Doe. Neither man could give more than a partial description, though both think she was wearing green. One guy remembers a green halter top and the other remembers green vinyl boots.”

“We’ll ask the police to do sweeps and pick up any prostitutes in the area. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Jane wiped a loose strand of hair out of her face and continued rapidly when she saw Captain Schultz about to speak. “What about our other congruency?

“We have two roommates; Jules VanWoulk and Hans Voorhes. Unlike the others, these two are apparently bisexual. They both work for the South African consulate and, from their address off Central Park, it’s safe to say they get paid very well for whatever it is they do there. They don’t seem to have anything in common with the others except that they went to a party and picked up two women who they apparently slept with.”

“Captain Schultz, please allow us to do our job,” Jane blurted our before he could interrupt yet again, not that it phased him in the least.

“Are they the same two women?” Schultz asked.

“Insufficient information again,” Paul responded. “These guys are so narcissistic they didn’t care about anything beyond the trappings of beauty. The women looked good on their arms. They also did whatever the guys told them. Thus, they were desirable, but details like names, addresses or appearances were irrelevant to VanWoulk or Voorhes. Hell, they picked up the girls as a contest to see who could do it quickest. And if that’s not clear enough, to give an even better idea what’s important to them, they’re still arguing over who won–that is when they aren’t demanding a mirror so they can see if the changes are up to their high standards of personal appearance. They don’t even care about the sex change.”

“Great.” Jane sighed deeply, frustration clear on his face. “Let’s call it a night. Shall we meet back here eight A.M. tomorrow?”

Seeing Elva’s pained look she quickly recalculated. “Oh, yeah. Tomorrow is Sunday. How about ten-thirty A.M.?” Everyone nodded and started wearily packing up. Even if they didn’t get much sleep, at least Elvira would be able to get to church.

OCTOBER 14, 10:20 P.M., A TELEPHONE BOOTH SOMEWHERE IN NYC, LOCATION DELETED CONSISTENT WITH PROVISIONS OF THE NATIONAL SECURITY ACT

A dark shape was speaking quietly into a pay telephone. “Yes Sergeant. We have six plus the Congressman and his father, who should be arriving shortly, assuming Lieutenant Roegler has no problems with the folks at Walter Reed. Arrange papers for these new folks for transfer to Walter Reed, but reroute them to the complex, just like for the Congressman and his father. I’ll be back late on the evening of Monday the sixteenth, after the ‘cargo’ has left here.”

“What about the Congressman, Sir?”

“Have Dr. Isaacs deal with the Congressman’s physician. He’ll know what to do. Also tell Lieutenant Roegler to follow up on the ‘two prostitutes’ angle. Have him use a picture of Eunice for the wanted poster.”