Adam thanked the operator and immediately called room service for a full breakfast of juice, eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and coffee. On missions like this one, he never knew when he'd have a chance to eat again on a stakeout of the target's home or place of work. To help him, his handlers always provided commercial plates in the particular state the operation was to take place, along with lettering on the Range Rover's doors. On this occasion, it was an interior design and antiques store on 10th Street called Biedermeier Heaven.
With a contented feeling that all was in order, Adam stepped into the shower. Ever since returning from Iraq, it was only at times like this that he felt whole: He was on a mission, and all was going according to plan. The only way it could have been better was if he were doing it with several of his fellow Delta Force buddies who'd been with him on his last, fateful military mission. Of course, the apogee was yet to come. That was when he made the kill.
LAURIE STAYED A few steps behind Jack as they entered Angels Orthopedic Hospital. It was significantly busier at six-fifteen in the morning than it had been at two-thirty the previous afternoon. As Jack went to the information booth, Laurie stayed close. Although she had a legitimate reason for being there, she was not interested in causing any sort of confrontation, such as what might happen if she had the misfortune of running into either Angela Dawson or Cynthia Sarpoulus. Loraine Newman probably would have been a different story, but even she might feel obligated to call the others if she saw Laurie. After all, they were her bosses.
Jack was given directions to the second floor. As they waited for an elevator, Jack noticed Laurie's vigilant behavior.
"What the devil's gotten into you?" he questioned. "You're like a squirrel expecting there's a dog in the neighborhood."
"I told you I wasn't treated with much hospitality yesterday. I'd just as soon avoid meeting the organization's CEO or their infection-control specialist."
"Don't be so paranoid. You have full right to be here."
"Maybe so, but I prefer not to get in any row about it."
On the second floor, they found their way with ease to the pre-op waiting area. The space was decorated more like a living room in a private mansion than part of a hospital. Even the name was a misnomer, as there was little waiting involved. Although there were a number of other patients for surgery the next day, there was adequate staff available. Jack and Laurie didn't even have to sit down before Jack was about to be taken back to an examination room where his blood was to be drawn.
"Do you have your cell phone?" Laurie asked Jack.
"Of course. Why?"
"I have mine as well. I'm going to run up to the fourth floor and visit the clinical pathology lab. Call me if I'm not back here when you're ready to go."
Jack winked. "So, you are going to make constructive use of your time?"
"Something like that," Laurie admitted.
Although Laurie initially didn't want to be recognized while visiting the hospital, she now changed her mind. She thought she'd use the opportunity to see if Walter Osgood was there. Remembering that she would be calling the CDC sometime during the day, she wanted to know if Walter Osgood would like to know if the MRSA infecting the hospitals, at least in three patients, was the selfsame subtype, meaning they'd have to all three come from the same source. It had irked her the previous afternoon when he'd tried to justify not subtyping the bacteria on all the cases. From an epidemiological point of view, it was mandatory, especially in a situation where the source and the method of spread were unknown.
On the fourth floor, Laurie walked into the laboratory and asked the first technician she encountered if Dr. Osgood was there.
"I have no idea," the technician admitted. "You'd have to ask Dr. Friedlander, the supervisor of the clinical lab. His office is against the back wall. You can't miss it." She pointed across the room.
"I've heard that before," Laurie mumbled to herself as she walked in the direction she was shown. Despite her misgivings, she did stumble directly onto the office as the technician had suggested. Advancing to the open door, Laurie looked in at a thin, bearded man in a spotless, crisply ironed long white coat, engaged in paperwork at his desk.
"Excuse me," Laurie called out.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Dr. Osgood. Can you tell me if he is here this morning?"
"No, not today. Today he is…" Simon spun around in his chair to gaze at the bulletin board behind him. "He is at Angels Heart Hospital. He's here only Monday and Thursday."
"Thanks," Laurie said.
"Is there something I can help you with? I'm the supervisor of the clinical pathology lab."
"I think I need to talk directly with Dr. Osgood," Laurie said, although she briefly thought about asking Dr. Friedlander to convey the message.
"Is it urgent? We could always call. He's usually available on his cell."
"It involves the MRSA outbreak."
"I'd say that was important enough. And who exactly are you?"
After Laurie had identified herself, Dr. Friedlander made the call. As soon as he got Osgood on the line, he told him that a Dr. Laurie Montgomery was standing in his office and wanted to speak with him. Laurie reached out for the phone, but Dr. Friedlander put up his hand to have her wait. Laurie could not hear what Dr. Osgood was saying, but Dr. Friedlander locked eyes with her as he intermittently said "yes" into the phone with a final "I understand." He then dropped the receiver into its cradle before returning his attention to Laurie and said, "Sorry, I'm afraid Dr. Osgood is fully engaged. He asked that you call him back sometime today at the home office. I can give you the number." Taking one of his own business cards, he circled the Angels Healthcare number and, leaning across his desk, handed it over to Laurie.
Mildly chagrined at being so impersonally rejected when she thought she was about to do the man a favor, Laurie turned on her heels and walked out of the windowless office.
NOW IT WAS definitely an emergency, Walter Osgood reasoned. The first time it had been vague intuition, based mostly on Dr. Laurie Montgomery's resistance to accepting his rationale for failing to have the MRSA completely characterized. But now it was different. She was back in the Angels Orthopedic Hospital, despite the company's CEO all but telling her directly not to return, and on this occasion requesting to speak with him of all people.
Getting out the emergency number again, Walter called Washington. This time the phone rang even more times than it had the previous day, yet it was eventually answered. The deep, wary voice on this occasion sounded sleep-addled. "What is it this time?"
"The same problem."
"Are you on a landline?"
"Yes."
"Call me back at this number." The man gave Walter another number, then disconnected.
Walter waited for several minutes before dialing. The same man answered, although the slight hoarseness was gone. "Are you talking about the medical examiner?"