Hosts

Fielding made the call.

Kate sat with Jack, listening to the speakerphone as Fielding wove his way through the CDC maze until he found the right someone in the right office who could handle his problem. Dr. Paige Freeman, who sounded as if she couldn't be over twelve, gave him specific instructions on how to overnight the sample to Atlanta.

Kate personally oversaw the sealing, packing, and shipping of the culture. They even waited for the FedEx man to pick it up.

Dr. Fielding had been subdued during all this, but his resolve appeared to stiffen as they were leaving.

"It's not fair, you know. I always follow strict anti-contamination procedures. I can't be held responsible if someone deliberately contaminated the culture. It's just not fair!"

"You believe in fair?" Jack said. "I suppose you believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy too. You think fair just happens? It doesn't. You want fair, you make fair."

Kate looked at Jack, surprised by his sudden intensity. What was he getting at?

But Fielding seemed to understand. He nodded, saying, "I still say I'm your friend's best hope. I've got a head start on this and I'm going to keep after it. If I'm going to get stuck with the blame for the contaminant, then I might as well take the credit for discovering how to control it. You watch. Before the CDC has even begun to roll, I'll have the solution for you."

Kate thought him overly optimistic but didn't want to discourage him.

"Thank you," she said.

"And if I could just get a sample of Jeanette's blood," Fielding said, "it would certainly speed the process."

"We'll see what we can do," Jack told him.

After they'd left Fielding's office, Kate asked, "How do you think we're going to get blood from Jeanette?"

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Lots of ways to get blood."

Kate sighed and let it go. At least the experts were on the case now. She knew the Center for Disease Control, despite its worldwide renown, was neither infallible nor omnipotent, but it had access to the best virologists in the world. She felt confident that a solution was on the way.

But just as her spirits began to lift, they dipped. Would she need treatment too? Although she had no way of knowing for sure, and did not want to believe it, Kate suspected that Jeanette had infected her with the rogue virus.

Why? Why would Jeanette do such a thing to her? She shuddered at the thought of an unidentified organism taking up residence in her body, invading her cells and multiplying. What could it be doing to her?

12

Stan paid the cabby and joined Joe at the curb.

"What do you think they were doing over at that medical center?" Joe asked.

"Beats me."

They'd followed their guy and his woman over to the East Side, hung around First Avenue for what seemed like hours, then tailed them back here to their starting point.

"Think he's got cancer or something?"

Stan didn't remember a sign on the building that said anything about cancer. What was going on in Joe's head?

"How would I know? And what difference does it make?"

"Because if he's got the Big C, maybe we don't do him right away. Maybe we wait and watch him rot for a few months, then do him."

They stood way up toward Sixth near a framing place where they had a long view of the front of the apartment building. Their guy hadn't gone in yet. He hung outside the front door talking to his lady.

"That'd sort of be like putting him out of his misery, don't you think?"

Joe kept staring at their guy. "Maybe, but I don't want no lousy tumor putting him away. We gotta do that. We gotta be the ones that sign his death certificate. Ain't that right?"

Stan wondered if Joe meant 'death sentence' but didn't get to ask because suddenly Joe was grabbing his arm.

"Shit! What're they doin'? They're splittin'!"

Their guy had wrapped his arms around his girl in a clinch that had the look of a good-bye hug.

"Get moving!" Stan said. "Other side of the street. Follow him if he takes off."

Although he worried about Joe losing control while tailing this guy, he couldn't risk going himself. Stan still looked pretty much the same as he had two years ago. This guy would recognize him if he spotted him. Joe, with his extra forty pounds and semi-beard had a better chance of going u

Joe was on his way. "What're you go

"Follow her inside. See where she lives."

"Excellent!"

Sure enough, the couple disengaged and their guy started walking away. Stan got moving, quick-walking along the street side of the parked cars as the woman turned toward the front door of the apartment building. She keyed the lock, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. Stan dodged to the sidewalk and dashed for the door, catching its edge with barely an inch to spare.

As he stepped into the vestibule he spotted the elevator standing open at the far end, but it was empty. Where the hell…?

Directly to his right he saw a door marked STAIRWAY swinging closed, and heard footfalls echoing. Keeping at least a flight between them, Stan followed her up to the third floor. As he stepped out into the hallway he spotted her to his left, moving. Stan turned right and ambled down the hall in the opposite direction. He fished in his pocket for his keys and dropped them on the carpet. While stooping to pick them up he watched her out of the corner of his eye, saw her disappear into a doorway.

When her door had closed, he reversed and hurried toward it.

Pleased, Stan headed back to the stairway.

Now we know where she lives, he thought. Let's hope that's where he lives too.

13

That feeling again.

Jack did a slow turn, giving the small, crowded platform of the Twenty-eighth Street subway station a full inspection.

Somebody watching him. Could feel it. Trouble was, the Friday afternoon rush hour was just getting started and he was surrounded by a horde of possible suspects.

The question was who? Probably some member of Holdstock's cult. Jeanette and Holdstock he'd recognize immediately, and maybe a couple of others, but not all. One of them could be standing beside him right now… or behind him…

That possibility pushed Jack back from the edge of the platform.

Why follow me?

To keep tabs? Or find out where he lived?

The notion jolted him. That was where he was headed now: a stop home to run a few errands, then return to Kate's later with the car, in case they needed to take another trip to the Bronx.

The uptown 9 rattled into the station then, and the crowd pressed forward. Jack held his spot, watching for the slightest hint of undue interest in the commuters eddying around him.

Nothing.

But the watched feeling persisted.

Keeping to the rear of the press, Jack shuffled with the rest toward the nearest open door. He squeezed aboard backward, the tips of his shoes barely inside the door line, and waited. As soon as the doors began to move he stepped back onto the platform. He turned and sca

The train began to roll, rumbling out of the station. Jack watched the windows, searching the visible faces for signs of surprise or anger. He saw only boredom and fatigue.

Had he let the train go by for nothing? Maybe. He knew he had paranoid tendencies—with good reason, he always insisted—and this wouldn't be the first time he'd expended extra time and effort because of a vague suspicion. He considered it time and effort well spent. Never be too busy to walk that extra mile… just in case.