"When drug companies make a mistake, more often than not it's a lulu," Ellen said, still trying to direct their conversation toward the letter. "That's what I have in common with them. When I make a mistake, it's a lulu, too."
"Tell me about it. I used to call myself the King of Screwupville."
"Rudy," Ellen said, "I don't know what made me do what I did, but — "
"You did it because, unlike some First Ladies we know, you are a seeker of the truth. You have a granddaughter who looks as if she has been damaged by her vaccinations and you want to help determine if that is the case, and also to protect other children and parents from paying the same price."
"I s'pose."
Ellen looked about blearily and then emptied half of the remaining wine into her glass.
"You know, Rudy," she tried once more, "I've always been a very curious person — some would even say nosy. Howard used to say my nosiness was going to get me in big trouble someday."
"If you hadn't been curious about all this, we would have already packed up and slipped back into our mundane existences."
"Some things you do and the moment you've done them, you wish you hadn't."
"That's how that creep who paid you a visit is going to feel when we get to him. Ellen, I've found some stuff for us to work with. We're closer to figuring out who the guy is than you might think."
Ellen felt dizzy, queasy, and unable to focus fully on what she was seeing or hearing. She had badly overdone the wine, and she sensed that she was in the process of making a bad situation worse.
"I'm anxious to hear about it," she managed. "And I've got something I need to talk with you about, too."
Had she actually said those last words or merely thought them?
"Well, then," Rudy said, "I'll tell you what I think is the significance of what you've found out."
"It was a mistake," Ellen said. "I know I shouldn't have done it, and I really am sorry. But just the same — Rudy, are you listening to me?"
Rudy was leafing through the passenger manifests and a small sheaf of notes.
"But just the same… Go on, I'm listening."
Ellen sighed. Next time, when she was clearheaded, she would try to do things right. Rudy didn't deserve to have a slobbering, slack-jawed inebriate blubbering about how she had invaded his privacy.
"What did you learn?" she asked, clicking off the TV.
"Okay," Rudy said excitedly, moving the TV tray table aside, pulling a coffee table over, and taking a seat on the arm of Ellen's chair. "I took as my criteria any male who was on multiple flights with a person who subsequently became infected with Lassa. That includes flights out of Freetown and from Ghana as well. By my thinking, our extortionist has to be one of these four men."
Ellen was hearing Rudy's words, and at least some of them were registering, but the queasiness in her gut was intensifying.
"Go on," she said, wondering if a bite of sandwich would help matters or hurt.
"Of course," Rudy continued, "I think it's a possibility — a good possibility — that all four of these men may be one and the same. Forged passports and IDs aren't all that hard to come by for someone with enough money."
"And whoever is bankrolling this extortion has enough, or will."
"I suspect you're right there. I have all of their names and addresses and… Ellen, do you want to take a break and maybe continue this in a few hours — or even in the morning?"
"You mean the wine?"
"I don't see you as much of a drinker, and you have had a bit."
"I'm fine," she replied with far more snap in her voice than she had intended. "Really I am. Let's just try calling information and shee… see if any of these four men are listed where they say they live."
"Great idea!" Rudy exclaimed, seeming genuinely surprised and pleased with her contribution.
Three of the names Rudy had culled from the passenger manifests weren't listed at all. The fourth, Vinyl Sutcher of Tullis, West Virginia, had a number that was nonpublished, at the customer's request.
"I suppose we start with him," Ellen said, now battling exhaustion as well as the nausea and dizziness. Be brave, she told herself. "Vinyl. It's hard to believe he'd make up a name like that for a fake passport."
"Must be some sort of family name," Rudy said. "Or else a mother who liked to name her kids after her furniture coverings."
"He's a cute little baby, I think we'll call him Naugahyde."
"Maybe we should try and get an artist who will do a composite sketch," Rudy suggested. "Or else we might try to get a photo of these four guys from the passport files at the State Department."
"At some point we may have to," Ellen managed. "But I am anxious not to lose that kind of time."
"You know, I was quite impressed with that little air injector the Secretary is going to use on that baby."
"You think that's how Vinyl, or whoever, infected those passengers?"
"Either with a pneumatic injection gun like that or some sort of flat, hollow plate that fits in his palm and uses compressed air from someplace up his sleeve. Technically it doesn't seem as if it would be too complicated to rig up. A little nudge, a jet of compressed air mixed with Lassa virus, and zap — instant disease."
Ellen felt her eyes beginning to close.
"Rudy," she said in the soft voice of a child, "I need to close my eyes now, just for a little while. Need to sleep."
"You do that, dear heart," she heard him say as she floated off. "You do whatever you need to do."
Using the remote, Lynette Marquand flipped off the television that had been wheeled into her office.
"Well, Lara, what do you think?" she asked.
HHS Secretary Lara Bolton was beaming.
"Brilliant," she said. "Masterful. There's absolutely no way to tell that most of that program was shot a month ago. Those guys are good — no, better than good. They're grrrrrreat."
"And my part?"
"Perfect. Just enough information, not too much. And you looked absolutely smashing."
"Thanks. You liked the script, too?"
"It was right on — sincere and appropriately solemn, yet excited and humble. I loved it."
"And the part about the kid?"
"You mean having you mention her but holding back on saying precisely who she is?"
"Yes."
"I think it worked perfectly. Nobody can criticize you for putting her and her family on the spot or invading their privacy, but everyone everyplace will be wanting to know about her. We'll do the rest. It'll only take one or two anonymous-source phone calls, and in a few hours everyone will be buzzing about little, adorable Donelle Cleary."
"And those calls?"
Lara Bolton made a pretense of checking her watch.
"I believe they've already been made, Mrs. Marquand," she said.
CHAPTER 28
Hal Sawyer was waiting for Matt and Nikki in the lobby of OSHA headquarters on Constitution Avenue. He was dressed more like the commandant of a yacht club than a med school professor — white trousers, navy blazer, blue pin-striped shirt open at the collar, but his expression was grim. He embraced Matt, then shook hands with Nikki and introduced himself.
"I'm relieved you're both all right," he said.
"Thanks to you," Matt replied. "We barely made it out of the FBI office without having to explain to them why a chief of police thinks I shot a guy in the head and then tried to burn the evidence."
"They might not have even known yet. But Grimes is definitely turning up the heat, so to speak."
Matt managed a weak smile.
"Is it safe to be here?"
"There's no reason to think Carabetta knows anything at this point. I wouldn't suspect OSHA is on the routing map of all points bulletins for murder."