is, but the Yura are infected by it and so far two have died. I tried to contact the disease control office in Lima but they weren’t interested. Local practices forbid examining the deceased and the bodies were burned. I was able to get this blood sample from an infected male. I’ve also sent mine to compare it with. The symptoms include fevers, hemorrhaging, swelling, shock and convulsions. I’m enclosing the local treatment. The bark and leaf are ground together to make a paste and then ingested. The treatment relieves symptoms for a 48-hour period before it has to be ingested again.—Dad
He’d included the coordinates of the tribe’s location in the jungles of Peru. She’d already tracked the location on her own GPS unit.
“Rob Miller sent this letter. Is that from him, too?”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate. If he was like half the other scientists at the CDC, he’d leave now. Instead he just watched her.
“What’d he send this time?”
She went to a low workbench and opened the desktop freezer. Blood samples were submitted to the lab in a frozen form, something that had bugged her about her dad’s original package. Where had her dad found a facility to do this kind of work? Especially since he mentioned that the CDC office in Lima hadn’t been cooperative.
And if he’d had a lab do the freezing, why hadn’t he stuck around to analyze the samples?
His first package had contained the Yura blood sample and a second, her father’s, as an uninfected sample from the same environment. He’d included a piece of tree bark with a small bud and leaf still attached—the local remedy—and an insect. Possible carrier, the label in her father’s handwriting said. Jane had spent the last few months analyzing the organic medicine and hoped to find some answers soon.
She’d called a peer at the World Health Organization in South America to check on the strain, but he’d assured her that there was nothing to worry about. He’d heard the rumors. They’d taken samples and conducted interviews in a village along the Amazon.
If the government officials were saying not to worry, she could be opening a can of worms. The World Health Organization and the CDC would both have consulted with the Peruvian government.
She was cautious by nature. She opened the new package. It was packaged the same way the original one was. Only this time the note on the packaging was labeled, Male Caucasian, 55 years old, Rob Miller.
Another sample of her father’s blood. Her heart beat just a little faster. Did he suspect he’d been infected? Oh, man. He’d better not be infected.
She still had a lot of things to say to the man. And…she pushed the thoughts aside. Now she was going to have to test his blood sample. She wished Tom wasn’t here.
There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Find a treatment, then worry about her father.
“Tell me what you need me to do,” Tom said, taking the sample and going to a microscope in the corner.
“Each day, I’ve been checking the blood sample. I’ve administered the powder from this tree bark, which works as a temporary relief of this virus. But so far the change in the growth pattern in the petri dish doesn’t resemble a treatment.”
“I wonder if the insect is the carrier? It could have been a primate. Did the letter indicate?” Tom asked.
She glanced at him. “No. He wasn’t sure what carried the disease, just sent this little wasp as a possibility. I’ve been concentrating on trying to isolate the virus and figure out what it is. If it’s something we’ve already identified and can treat. I’ve been varying the sample treatment with known treatments for differing fevers found in the region.”
“What’d he send this time?”
“His own blood sample. He included his with the first package to show a healthy test had been conducted. But this new sample means…”
“He thinks he might be infected. Want me to check it? He is your father.”
Did she really want Tom to do this for her? Hell, no. She’d do it. “No. Why don’t you take a look at these two slides, see what the treated and untreated blood looks like.” She pointed to the slides containing the Yura tribesmen’s samples.
Tom reached around her for the two samples before moving across the room to the other long lab table. “Let’s crack this case wide open.”
She smiled at him, trying to make sure he’d think this was a normal reaction. Trying not to let him see that she was afraid for once of the knowledge she’d always taken such pride in.
“God, you are too corny for words. Good thing you chose to go into science.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, arching one eyebrow at her.
“Any other profession wouldn’t tolerate your eccentricities.”
“Sure it would. I’m brilliant, and that kind of raises the tolerance bar,” Tom said.
“Not far enough.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I like you, Jane.”
“Thanks, Tom. Let’s get to work.”
Tom took his sample to a corner of the lab and Jane went to work. The space-suit gloves were for her protection, but she didn’t like to use them. If she’d been alone in the lab she would have shed them. But she couldn’t with Tom here, so she worked with them on.
She took her time preparing the electron microscope, a fully computerized technological wonder that took up as much room in her lab as her large desk did. Finally, her father’s blood was being shot by the microscope’s “gun,” the lens focusing on objects too small for the most powerful light microscope to magnify. The computer screen finally showed her a photo of the tiniest of objects: a virus. Blood rushed in her ears and spots danced in front of her eyes. She reached behind her for support against the countertop.
“Jane? You okay?”
She shook her head and forced down the bile rising in the back of her throat. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let me compare this with the one you’re looking at.”
She concealed the panic and pain and infinite sadness that rose through her like a wave.
Tom didn’t say anything, just stepped back out of the way. She ordered the computer to remove the sample. She studied the slide, adjusting the light. With this level of magnification it was easier to see the infection.
Saying nothing to Tom, she inserted a new sample.
She adjusted her glasses and glanced down. The cells began to take shape on the computer screen as she searched. Slowly it came into focus.
Jane’s dad was infected with the same virus that was killing the Yura. And it was fatal.
“Where’s the modified bark treatment you made?” Tom asked.
Jane stared at him. In her mind she saw every en counter she’d had with her father.
“Jane?”
“I’m
