Haters are gonna hate, she reminded herself.
Once she reached the entry doors, armed security personnel stepped forward to stop the rush of bodies attempting to follow her inside. She made a mental note to use a different entrance the next day. Unbeknownst to her, that wouldn’t be an issue.
She’d enjoyed the few hours at home that morning. Sleeping in her own bed rather than the CDC Learjet did wonders for her energy levels. Plus, Dr. Dog needed her mommy, and Miss Sally missed fixing a meal for her adopted family. Most of all, she enjoyed lying in bed that night, talking with Joe about everything. He was always a voice of reason and sanity. The only thing that was missing from their conversation was the insane course of action she was intent upon pursuing. That conversation would come, but first she needed to determine if it would be approved by her boss.
Her first stop was Becker’s office. In the morning, Dr. Elizabeth Becker became Lizzie Becker—the human dynamo. Harper could never put her finger on what made the young epidemiologist tick. When the two first began working together, she’d noticed the piles of empty Diet Coke cans that accumulated in Becker’s wastebasket. Harper surmised it was the caffeine.
Then she noticed there were days when Becker laid off the Diet Cokes, yet her enthusiasm for the day remained high. Harper seriously contemplated a scientific study to determine if Becker’s zest for her job, and life in general, could be bottled and sold on Amazon. Perhaps in an atomizer as a perfume or cologne.
“Good morning, Dr. Randolph! Did you see the reporters outside? You’re famous!”
Harper didn’t share in her exuberance. “Happy, happy. Joy, joy.”
“Oh, come on. Any press is good press. When this is all over and you save the day, America will forever remember the name—Dr. Harper Randolph.” Becker motioned with her hands to design an imaginary sign in midair.
Harper smiled. Becker had lifted her spirits once again. “Well, hopefully Reitherman doesn’t fire me before Good Morning America calls for an interview.”
Becker scowled and cocked her head. “How did you know?”
Harper became genuinely concerned. “What have you heard? Is he gonna fire me? Aw, shit, Becker. I had no idea—”
“No. Not that. A producer from Good Morning America called the communications director this morning. They want you to appear on camera during their last segment.”
Harper shook her head. “Not gonna happen. I’ve done enough damage already.”
“Suit yourself. Any pub is good pub. I’ll pass it on.” She held up two hands and presented stacks of phone messages to Harper.
“What are these?”
Becker gestured as she spoke. “Right hand is from the LA public health officials, Seattle DPH, our counterparts in Austria, and several WHO epis.”
Harper spread them apart with her thumb to look at the names. Then, holding up her left hand, she asked, “And these?”
“Media.”
Harper smiled and walked around Becker’s desk. She tossed the media inquiries in the wastebasket on top of the pile of empty Diet Coke cans.
“Thanks, Becker. I need to see Dr. Reitherman first thing. Have you seen him?”
“The Bergermeister has already been looking for you,” she replied, using her nickname for the director.
“What’s his mood like?” asked Harper.
Becker thought for a moment, searching her expansive, although somewhat unusual, mental thesaurus. “Engrossed.”
Harper chuckled and waved as she headed out the door. “Well, alrighty then.”
She made a beeline for her office to avoid idle chitchat with any of the CDC personnel. She had a busy day and didn’t need any distractions. She had to stay focused, although not engrossed, as Becker had suggested Dr. Reitherman was. Her proposal required one heckuva convincing argument, and she was ready to start the discussion.
However, there was one phone call she wanted to make first. Once in her office, she shut the door and dropped her bag in a chair. She spread the phone messages out on her desk and retrieved the one from an official with the Department of Health within the Austrian Ministry of Labor, Social Affairs, Health, and Consumer Protection. Somehow, the Austrians felt lumping all of these diverse agencies under one made sense.
Harper didn’t speak German other than a few phrases. Hopefully, she could find her way through to the proper party. She dialed the international number and waited.
The receptionist answered the phone. “Guten Tag. Gesundheitamt. Wie kann ich dir helfen?”
Harper thought fast. She understood good afternoon and the word for help. Gesundheit was universally known as a word for health.
“Um, yes. Ja, Herr Spahn, bitte. Ich bin Dr. Harper Randolph auf CDC America.”
She cringed as she crossed her fingers and hoped that came out right.
The receptionist, obviously bilingual, switched languages to accommodate Harper. “Good afternoon, Dr. Randolph.”
Oh, thank God! Harper smiled as she looked upward. “Good, thank you. I am returning his phone call.”
“Yes. Doktor Spahn was hoping to receive your call today. Einen moment, bitte.”
Harper searched her desk drawers for a notepad and pen. As much as she enjoyed working in the field, it took her a few hours to become reacquainted with her office when she returned.
“Dr. Randolph, thank you for your prompt call. I am Herman Spahn, associate director of Health. I am told by Dr. Reitherman that you are the lead epidemiologist on the Las Vegas outbreak.”
I hope so, but that’s subject to change.
“Yes, I am. How may I help you?”
“After reading the news reports and the alerts issued by World Health, I revisited a mysterious death brought to my attention a week ago. Officially, the cause of death was ruled as pneumonia, but the pathology is odd.”
“How so?” asked Harper.
“The patient was male and in his mid-thirties. He was in excellent health. In fact, he was a member of the Austrian Olympic ski team.”
Harper was intrigued. “Did he have any other medical diseases, such as asthma, diabetes, or undiagnosed chronic obstructive pulmonary disease?” Many knew this respiratory illness by its acronym—COPD.
“No. I have reviewed the notes from his initial autopsy and even ordered a second one to confirm. He was a nonsmoker, nondrinker and had no indications of a weakened immune system.”
Harper cradled the phone between her cheek and shoulder. She was furiously making notes and then asked the doctor to share the results of the autopsy with the CDC.
While she was thinking, Dr. Spahn continued. “This is a heartbreaking case for other reasons. His wife recently died in a tragic accident while climbing Mount Everest. Their story is surreal. This gentleman was left behind at the base camp when his wife made the climb. He’d become ill with flu-like symptoms, and the medical team in Nepal refused to allow him access to the mountain. Fate took his life a week later.”
Harper leaned back in her chair. She stared at her notes and then asked, “Have you investigated their contacts since his return to Austria?”
“Yes, it was quite simple, actually. He and his wife live together with her parents in a small village north of Vienna.”
“Did the parents get sick? How old are they?”
Dr. Spahn paused. Harper could hear him thumbing through notes or a file folder. “Ja. They did become sick with flu-like symptoms and were admitted to Wilhelminenspital for treatment. They recovered without further complications.”