by Judith Rocchiccioli

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Chapter 1

“Sandy! Sandy! You have got to come here right away! Something horrible’s happening to the guy in bed three. I have no idea what’s up with him but I think he is going to die,” Kelsey Saunders exclaimed, her voice shrill with anxiety as her vivid green eyes exploded with anxiety.

Sandy Pilsner, emergency department nurse manager of Crescent City Medical Center’s level one emergency department, looked up from the nurses’ station and said, “What’s up, Kelsey? I just saw him 20 minutes ago when I was making rounds.”

Kelsey’s face was white with fear. “It’s awful. He has blood coming out of his eyes and his blood pressure is low. He’s also shaking all over. I don’t know if it is a seizure or his fever. He’s having trouble breathing too. ”

Sandy rose from her seat so she was eye level with the almost hysterical Kelsey, her new nursing graduate intern from LSU, and said gently, “Kelsey, it’s OK. I just checked on him a few minutes ago. He seemed fine, except for his fever and the fact that his blood work is really screwed up.”

“I know, I know. But I’m telling you that things have changed quickly.”

Sandy shook her blonde hair emphatically. “Hurry up. I think he’s gonna die any minute. There is just something very wrong! He is totally going bad.” Kelsey’s green eyes were huge and Sandy could see anxiety and worry reflected in them.

“All right, let’s go check him out,” Sandy said as she thought of the ideal teaching moment they would have.

An urgent voice barked over the hospital voice system, “CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE, ED, Bed 3.”

Sandy grimaced and said, “Well, Kelsey, you called that one right! Let’s see what we can do.” Both nurses rushed toward the opposite end of the ED, pushing an extra crash cart.

The code team was in action, and two amps of bicarb had already been administered with no response. The patient was blue, with circumoral cyanosis surrounding his mouth. His nails looked as though someone had painted them with a pearly blue nail polish. His eyes, open and staring, were blood red from petechiae and broken blood vessels. A bloody drainage seeped from the right eye, staining his cheek.

Sandy noticed the flat red rash on his chest. She could swear he hadn’t had that rash 30 minutes ago.

The ED doc in charge, Dr. Fred Patterson, saw Sandy and hollered, “What the hell is happening to this guy? He’s bleeding from everywhere and I have no idea what’s wrong with him! Give me a history and for God’s sake, get us some protective gear in here.”

Sandy stood quietly, transfixed. She had never seen Dr. Patterson anxious or even tense. She panicked for a moment but didn’t know why. A dark sense of foreboding fell over her and she was afraid.

Dr. Patterson glared at her. “For God’s sake, Sandy! Give me something. What’s the history? He’s bleeding out and I don’t know why. This is, at the very least, malaria, typhoid or perhaps one of the hemorrhagic viruses – maybe even something worse. Holy Shit, I don’t like this! Get us some protective gear, NOW!”

Sandy’s stress soared exponentially. Fred Patterson was their calmest ED doc and he was freaked. She grabbed the chart from the medication nurse and said, “Fred, not much to tell. The guy came in several hours ago from the Hotel Burgundy in the Quarter. He’s part of the staff for the Democratic Caucus that starts tomorrow. The friend who bought him here said he starting feeling sick last night, had some nausea, some vomiting and a sore throat. Then, this morning, his temperature got higher and he couldn’t stop vomiting, so he brought him in. We started some IV fluids and gave him some Tofran for his nausea. That was several hours ago. He was OK an hour ago.”

“Well, he sure isn’t OK now. I think he is in liver failure at the very least and probably multi-system failure. Any recent blood work? Does he have any friends or family here other than the guy who bought him in? Any idea where he’s been? Do you know if he has been traveling?”

Sandy shook her head, watching the Code Team continue CPR compressions as the Respiratory Team intubated the patient. There was no cardiac response at all. Flat line! A nurse rolled the defibrillator closer.

“I’ve no idea. His friend stayed about 30 minutes and took off. Said he had a bunch of stuff to do. You know the politicians are here for the next few days, right? They are trying to clean up their act in Washington, you know, Operation Fix America,” Sandy added in explanation.

“Yeah, goody, goody and the President is coming over the weekend, right?”

Sandy could detect the sarcasm in Fred’s voice. She really couldn’t blame him for his jaded and sarcastic nature. Just this year his twin brother Ron, also at ED doc for CCMC had died working in the ED. No one had recovered from it, particularly Fred. Nevertheless, he was a great ED doc and he knew his stuff. Besides, almost everyone in America had lost respect for the politicians in Washington D.C., and Fred wasn’t any different.

“Yep, that’s what the papers say,” Sandy responded as she addressed Fred’s jaded remarks and continued, “I think a food service worker from the same hotel was admitted earlier with similar symptoms. I’ll need to check.”

“Find out where he’s been from his friend that brought him in. Call the hotel too. I think he has some kind of lethal virus. Get the infectious disease people in here too. I’m bringing in Tim Smith in Tropical Medicine over at Tulane as well. Those people over at the Tropical Medicine department are good with this stuff.”

Sandy could hear the tension in Fred’s voice. She paused for a second to respond.

He glared at her and said, “STAT, Sandy, we need to know what we are dealing with. If it’s bad, we need to contain it. Be sure we have gathered all available blood samples for diagnostic testing. Get a tube of everything.”

Sandy, an old hat ED nurse who thought she had seen everything working while in New Orleans, was disturbed and frightened by Fred’s behavior and the wild look in his eyes. She could feel her anxiety escalating, something she hardly ever experienced as an expert practitioner.

“Got it Fred, I’ll take care of it,” she calmly replied, pushing a reluctant Kelsey forward so they could get to work. Sandy could feel the slow but increasing thud of her heart. Oh my God, she thought, suppose we have an outbreak of Ebola or some unknown hemorrhagic virus.

She looked at Kelsey, who was, once again, white with fear and said, “Have central supply bring in full gowns, masks and booties for all staff in the ED. Get face shields as well. We need to start isolation on all patients and close the ED to further traffic. We’ll have to close down, and transfer what we can, and divert to other local EDs. I’ll call and let administration know. This could be bad. We don’t know what this guy’s got.”

Kelsey recovered and responded quickly. “I’ll take care of the gear, call the CCMC infectious disease docs here at the hospital and report back tom you.”

“Thanks, Kelsey. You’re the best,” Sandy said as she patted the shoulder of the young graduate and rushed toward her office to call administration and report a potentially biological threat to the medical center. En route, she had a near-collision with general surgeon Robert Bonnet, the interim chief of medicine at CCMC.

Robert smiled brightly at Sandy, “Whoa! What’s up, girl! Why all the rush? I heard the CODE BLUE so I came down. What’s going on?”

“Come into my office, Robert, so we can talk. We have a guy, the code, who looks like he has some type of really weird virus. Fred said typhoid or malaria at the best and perhaps something much worse. Maybe even a hemorrhagic virus of some kind. The patient works for the Democratic Party. He was bleeding out, has a significant trunk rash, and high fever. Also, his kidneys and liver are shutting down.”

Robert’s smile disappeared as he processed the information Sandy gave him. His handsome face reflected his concern and he said, “This could be bad. Get me Dave Broderick, head of infectious disease here at CCMC. If it looks like a hemorrhagic fever, we will need to call the CDC as well. Has anyone else been admitted with similar symptoms?”

“Yeah, but he was transferred to Intensive Care, which is where this guy was headed before he coded. I think the guy in the ICU is South African and I believe he was food service staff at the Hotel Burgundy. He had a temp of 103.2, as well as nausea and vomiting. His blood platelets were whacked and WBCs were way up. Short of breath, too, but we treated that with oxygen. Just like the guy that coded, but the South African guy stabilized and was transferred to ICU an hour or so ago.”

“Find out how he is and call me. I think we have a serious situation, a viral outbreak at the very least.”

Sandy nodded, noting the etched lines of concern on Robert’s handsome face as he left her office and started down the hall.

Damn, that man is hot…If I were a few years younger…Sandy had just picked up her phone to call infectious disease when Robert returned.

Framed in her doorway Robert asked, “Sandy, when does the political convention start, Operation Fix America? Do you know?”

Sandy shrugged her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, sometime this weekend. I think it’s mainly Friday and Saturday, but I think the President speaks on Saturday.” She gave him a reproachful look and added, “Really, Dr. Bonnet, you should know. Your father is a Senator!”

Robert cracked a half smile. “Find out,” he said as he stared at her steadily, his eyes unwavering and holding hers.

After several seconds, Sandy got the message and asked, “Dr. Bonnet, you don’t think someone is..?”

Robert interrupted her, “I don’t know, Sandy, but we have to think proactively. There are gonna be a lot of very powerful people in the city this weekend. We’ve got to consider it.”

“Oh my God, Robert. We’ve had enough this year, please not this.” Sandy’s voice was shrill with fear.

“Yes, we have, but I have a bad feeling that this may be the worst. Close the ED to further traffic, have everyone wear protective gear, and for God’s sake, don’t allow anyone to leave until we figure out what we are dealing with. Implement our full biocontainment protocol and close the ED to all incoming traffic, except patients with flu-like symptoms. It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Robert added.

Sandy stared at him, her eyes wide. She nodded and said, “I’ve already closed the ED and we are transferring everyone out that we can. I just need to contact administration.”

Robert smiled and said, “You have. These days I amadministration and trust me, I’d much rather be in the operating room. I’ll talk to Alex. We’re the administrators in charge while Don is away on vacation. Keep this viral thing under your hat. It may be nothing more than a bad bug. But just to be safe, I’m calling CDC.”

Sandy watched Robert leave for the second time as a dark, ominous feeling of dread permeated her body. Oh my God, what are we in for, shethought as she wiped the chill bumps from her arms.

Chapter 2

In the back of a shotgun house off Chartes Street in the Faubourg Marigny, a colorful revitalized neighborhood close to the French Quarter and the Mississippi River, Ali, a thin, frail, 23 year old Muslim graduate student stared at his older brother, 31 year old Nazir. Ali asked, “Nazir, are you sure we know what we are doing? I don’t trust Vadim at all.” Ali’s hair was a mess of tousled dark curls and his expressive brown eyes were intense.

“Ever since I hacked into his email and saw the exit plans he sent to his comrades in Russia, I have been suspicious,” Ali continued. “Maybe you should abort this mission or at least, postpone it.” His young face looked scared and uncertain.

Nazir’s face remained unchanged and he rolled his eyes with impatience. He looked at his little brother and said condescendingly, “Ali, stop it. I thought you were ready for this. I thought I could trust you to be strong. We are doing the work of Allah.”

Ali seemed to shrink in stature, to retreat into his skin, at his brother’s criticism and impatience. He felt very small as he stared at his feet. “I am ready, I really am,” Ali replied with all the bravado in his voice he could muster. “I just don’t like working with others, those that are not dedicated to our cause.”

Nazir’s impatience continued and it was clear in his voice. “You have been training for over three years, and I have been planning for a mission such as this for many more. Sometimes, in order to get the job done, we have to work with others. This is one of those times.”

Ali still looked doubtful, uncertain. His brother’s words did not sway him.

Nazir moved toward his little brother and put his arm around his thin shoulders. Ali certainly wasn’t a warrior, but he was a brilliant scientist and computer genius. “Vadim is OK. He’s just different from us. He is Russian, just as we are, and they do things differently. But he is a Muslim and worships as we do. He is one of our highest, most revered leaders in the Red Jihad movement in Eastern Europe,” he said gently.

Ali nodded as Nazir continued, “Remember, we needed Vadim and his connections to get us the virus. The Russians have been holding that strain for decades. It would have taken us years to produce a similar strain with the same kill rate. In fact, as I may have told you, the virus was mutated here in New Orleans in the 1960s. The Russians stole it, so the story goes.”

Ali nodded. He remembered the story well. There was even information on the famous virus in the archives in the schools of Medicine and Tropical disease at Tulane University.

“You more than anyone know we haven’t been able to produce the more virulent strain in our laboratories.” Nazir eyed him reprovingly.

“I know, I know,” lamented Ali. “But we were very close. If you had just given me six more months, I could have had the very same thing or perhaps something even better, with an even higher kill rate. Maybe even a virus that would be harder to detect. Nazir, you have to understand these things take time, believe me. I haven’t been doddering.” Ali’s dark eyes were brooding and angry.

“No, of course not, my little brother. I certainly don’t think that at all.” Nazir continued to talk softly and reassure his brother how much he and the local jihad cell appreciated his talents and contributions. “I know that, I know that, little one. But you know how the Americans are. Very seldom are there so many of them from all parts of their leadership gathered together in an iconic, easily compromised city such as New Orleans. This Operation Fix America meeting is a perfect time for us to strike. Washington is just too difficult to infiltrate. It is a fortress. But New Orleans? What can I say? It lives up to its name as The Big Easy for a terrorist attack.   Ali, the place is a sewer, and half-underwater. It cannot be secured. Besides, they’ll have a hard time figuring out if the virus is endemic to New Orleans.”

Nazir smirked to himself and continued, “They have so many bacterial and viral samples growing over there in Tulane’s lab, not to mention all that stuff they’re growing since Katrina, they’ll never detect us. Besides, we have hundreds of places where we can hide here, for years if needed.”

Ali was listening and nodded his head, but he was not in agreement with his brother’s message.

“The time is right and the place is perfect. Imagine the terror and fear it will cause in the hearts of Americans when we are successful so soon after Boston.” Nazir smiled and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of killing thousands of Americans, not to mention senior leadership and the President of the United States. “This mission will make 9/11 seem like child’s play.”

Ali was being stubborn. “I like New Orleans. I like our friends here and where we live. I have fun. I am happier here than I have been in anywhere since we left home after our parents died. I like going to school at Tulane, too, and studying with Dr. Smith.   I like being his lab rat, and he says he can get me financing for my PhD if I decide to continue my studies. He’s taught me a lot, and, in some ways, he has been helpful to our cause.”

Nazir’s face had darkened and he shook his younger brother violently until Ali’s teeth chattered and his dark curls danced in the sunlight. He gritted his teeth and barked at the slightly built young man in a hoarse voice, “Ali, for the last time, don’t you remember that it wasthe Americans who killed our parents and all of our friends.   It was their drone that killed them. These people are our enemy. We are here to KILL them, not become their friends and help them in their labs. Do you get it, or do you need to go back to the Cadesus?”

Ali was shocked at his brother’s words. “I get it. I get it, Nazir. I am sorry. Now let me go. I must get to work. My shift starts in less than an hour.” Ali pulled back and shuffled out of his brother’s arms, terrified, but trying hard not to show it. He left his Marigny apartment, quickly walking toward Canal Street and Tulane Medical Center.

As Nazir watched his brother leave the house, he shook his head in exasperation. What could he do to make his brother understand their cause? Perhaps he was too young to remember the death of their parents.

Ali’s heart was heavy on his way to work. He didn’t like the business of hurting others, even though his parents had been killed. Hadn’t the Taliban killed the parents of many American children during 9/11 attack? Weren’t the jihadist being just as destructive as the Americans had been over the years? He guessed his western education had made him question his supposed “mission”.

He was startled when his phone alarm sounded, signaling a text. The text was from Dr. Smith. It read, “ALI, CAN YOU COME ASAP? WE HAVE A VIRAL OUTBREAK IN ONE OF THE HOSPITALS. Tim.”

Ali quickly texted back, “I AM ON MY WAY. Ali.” He didn’t feel good about this at all. There was nothing about a viral outbreak that could be good for Nazir, Ali or even Vadim, for that matter. At least, not today. He wondered what was up. His heart began to thud with anxiety. Things were just not right and that bothered him.   It bothered him a great deal.

Chapter 3

Alex could hardly contain her excitement as she stared across the table at her dear friend and head of CCMC psychiatric services, Dr. Monique Desmonde. Monique was sitting quietly in her wheel chair, her shoulders surrounded by the big, beefy arm of Police Commander Jack Francoise. Only six weeks ago, Monique had been in a coma, having sustained a potentially terminal head injury when a psychotic CCMC employee attacked her with a lead pipe. But, that was six weeks ago, and Monique’s recovery was amazing. She was even better than last week when Alex had taken her to dinner and spent the evening while Jack was working.

Monique was alert and seemed to be back to almost normal. By her own admission, she was still a bit forgetful and knew she couldn’t return to her position as chief of psychiatry at the Pavilion, CCMC’s psychiatric facility for several more months, and frankly, that was fine with her. Her luxurious long dark hair was beginning to grow back from her craniotomy and her face was unblemished from the massive trauma she had sustained. She looked beautiful, happy, and content. Alex was thrilled with Monique’s progress and anxious to have her back full time at the hospital.

Jack was happy as well. The lines of worry, anxiety, and fatigue were temporarily erased from his face as he moved closer to protect Monique. In the background hovered Chef Henri, the executive chef of the Cajun Café who loved having Alex and her friends at the Café for lunch. Jack motioned Chef Henri, who immediately appeared at the table.

“Commander, Dr. Monique, Alex, it is wonderful to have you back. Dr. Monique, you look very lovely. My heart is happy for you and the Commander,” Henri gushed and continued, “No one would ever know you had been ill!” Henri’s sincere voice exuded warmth as he welcomed them to his café.

“Thank you, Henri,” Monique was gracious, but her speech was slow and focused, her smile a little crooked. “It is wonderful to see you, too,” she said in a halting voice. “I am so happy to be able to come in for lunch.”

Alex loved Henri’s subtle French accent and his long slender fingers, which could have been those of a great pianist. Instead, she could picture Henri slicing and dicing vegetables for his city-renowned French dishes.

Henri touched her shoulder warmly. “Dr. Monique, when will you return to work? We all miss you here.”

Monique appeared a little hesitant as she responded, “I don’t know for sure. I am still a little slow talking and remembering things. I hope by the end of the year.”

Jack glanced over and said, “Don’t worry, Henri, she will be back before you know it. Look at how well she has done and how quickly she has gotten better.”

Monique glared at Jack and said impatiently, “Jack, you know it may be a while. I won’t continue to get better as quickly as I have so far. I believe I still have quite a lot of work to do on my speech and ambulation, not to mention my memory. I cannot practice psychiatry with a short-term memory and who knows if that will ever come back.”

Although Monique was matter–of-fact, Alex could detect anxiety in her voice.

Alex nodded her head but was startled by Monique’s impatience. Prior to her injuries, Monique had been the most patient woman on earth, spending hours of time carefully listening to every word in group sessions of her acutely and chronically ill psychiatric patients. After listening to just one group session, Alex had wanted to shoot herself in the head.

“I know, honey,” the Commander said with assurance, “but it won’t be that long. We’ll continue to work on it every day and we’ll get there.”

Monique brightened a bit and nodded, “Sure we will, Jack, but just remember that it will take some time.”

Jack nodded and squeezed her hand in response.

Alex stared at the two of them and shook her head. “Wow, you all freak me out. Even now, I still have a hard time thinking of you guys as a couple. Remember, we had only known for several days when you got sick, Monique.”

In truth, Alex had been surprised, almost shocked, when the beautiful, elegant Monique Desmonde and the gnarly, often officious, tough, and stubborn Police Commander Jack Francoise had fallen in love. Of course, they were both old New Orleans and had dated in high school, but that still hadn’t prepared Alex or Robert, her former surgeon husband, for the unanticipated declaration of love between their two friends. They had happily celebrated the news just a few days before Monique had been critically injured by a sick and unhappy employee.

Alex noticed the confused look on Monique’s face as she said, “What do you mean, Alex? I thought you were happy with our relationship. You always said you were. Hearing this makes me kind of sad.”

Alex reached to take Monique’s hand in her own. “Of course I am happy, Monique. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you. I was just teasing. You took me too literally.” Alex felt guilty for failing to remember that patient’s with head injuries often don’t understand colloquial speech or slang. She admonished herself to be more careful until Monique could differentiate between the seriousness and teasing that occurred in conversations.

Jack backed Alex up. “Monique, you know she and Robert couldn’t be happier. Remember, they are standing up for us at our wedding! Maid of Honor and Best Man. Remember?”

Monique laughed, “Of course I do. You all had better go with us to City Hall. Nobody else even likes us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, silly. Everyone likes you and besides, you’re covered. Just tell us when and we will be there.” Alex turned her attention to Chef Henri who remained patiently waiting by the table. “Henri, what do you have today that is good for lunch?” Alex asked, giving the Chef a bright smile.

“Why, Miss Alex, it is all good.” Henri looked hurt, crushed in fact.

Oh my gosh, I am really striking out today. Maybe I can hurt Jack’s feelings too and then I’ll be three for three, Alex thought. “Of course it’s all good, Henry, but what is the special? You know I eat here all the time because I love your food.”

Henri’s crestfallen face brightened. “Gumbo, Seafood Gumbo! It’s the special today. I made it myself. The roué is from scratch.” Henri beamed proudly.

Jack looked at Monique and Alex who nodded, and he said to Henri, “Three Gumbo and sour dough bread with ice tea. Then we’ll order desert.”

As Henri hurried off to fill their order, Alex’s cell phone rang. As she checked the digital display, she noted it was Dr. Robert Bonnet, the interim CCMC chief of medicine who was covering for Dr. John Ashley who was on a clinical sabbatical.

“Hey, Robert, I am with Jack and Monique at the Cajun Café. She was here at the hospital for rehab this morning and now we ‘re having lunch. Can you join us? Henri just took our order.”

Robert’s heart quickened and warmed as it always did when he heard the soft, gentle, Virginia accent of his former wife, Alexandra Lee Destephano, the legal counsel for CCMC. Every day when he awoke, he chastised himself for divorcing her years ago when he had been a surgical resident at the University of Virginia Hospital in Charlottesville. He had been so young, dumb, and arrogant in those days. He had wanted Alex, a registered nurse pursuing a law degree, to quit school and stay at home to become a hausfrau like his mother had done for his father, a former Louisiana Governor, and current Senator.

For a brief moment, Robert shifted his thoughts to better days. Robert and Alex had married in a lavish wedding ceremony on the Lawn at the University of Virginia and had settled in Charlottesville. Their marriage represented one of the most powerful political unions in the South, the Lees of Virginia and the Bonnets of Louisiana. Alex’s grandfather was Senator Adam Patrick Lee of Virginia, and Robert’s father had been active in political circles in Louisiana for years and was currently the senior United States Senator from Louisiana.

“Oh, wonderful, how is Monique?” Robert asked, delighted that his friends were all together. Jack and Monique had known Robert for years, and even though Jack was older, they had all grown up together in New Orleans.

“She is wonderful, looks beautiful. Can you make it?” Alex persisted, even though her feelings about Robert remained unresolved.

“I can stop by, but I cannot eat. We have a worsening situation over here in the ED. I need to fill you in. I’ll stop by shortly.”

“Oh, no, not again,” Alex said dismally.

“Damn, now what,” Jack demanded, looking angry that someone could mess up his almost perfect lunch. When Commander Jack Francoise was angry, a big black cloud hovered over everyone in his presence and everyone was affected.

Monique gently touched his sleeve to calm him down, a frequent gesture for her in her constant effort to control his stress.

Alex looked apologetic. “I don’t know. There is something going on in the ED, and he said he needs to come over to update me. I am sure it’s nothing, probably some irate patients, someone screaming law suit, or complaining because they had to wait more than 15 minutes.”

“Well, I hope it’s medical and doesn’t concern police work. CCMC needs to hire me two new detectives to help solve their crimes,” Jack grumbled. “I spend more time here than I do anywhere else.”

“Except for the French Quarter,” Monique reminded him. “You were there again last night.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Damn stupid people getting themselves mugged and beaten up. At least we haven’t had any murders lately. If they would just follow the safety guidelines located in all the hotels and restaurants and stay out of the deepest parts of the Quarter after midnight we could cut the crime rate in half. Ain’t nothing good doing on the Quarter after one a.m. Trust me.” Jack’s face darkened as he remembered the mugging several night ago. It was particularly horrific. St. Germaine-like. The victim had survived but was still in shock and couldn’t tell the police anything. Damn, he’d like to get that bastard. He was brought back to reality after he noticed Robert Bonnet entering the café.

Tall and thin, with sandy hair and chiseled features, Robert was particularly handsome in his physician’s white coat. He was on the radar of every woman in the Cajun Café. Alex was well aware of the attention her ex was generating as he walked toward their table. She smiled brightly as he kissed her warmly on the cheek.

“Monique, you look good, great in fact. How is therapy?” he inquired, as he maneuvered around Jack to give her a gentle hug.

“Rehab is the hardest thing I have ever done, Bonnet. When I graduate, it will be better than getting my medical degree,” Monique lamented. “I’ve never known how painful fatigue could be. Sometimes, I get so tired I cannot remember anything, and that is so frustrating.” Monique had tears in her eyes.

Robert nodded his head in understanding as his grey eyes connected with Monique’s dark ones. “I’m sure, Monique, but it is paying off. You are doing incredibly well. What you are experiencing is normal, and I know you know that.” Robert smiled, his gentle eyes holding her green ones.

“I do. I am just ready to close this chapter in my life. I’m really OK, don’t worry,” Monique offered as she gave them all a hopeful smile. “Now, what’s up in the ED?”

Robert motioned Henri for some iced tea and looked at his friends. His voice was low.

Jack, half deaf in one ear from the rifle range and too stubborn to wear a hearing aid, leaned in close.

Robert looked worried. “I’m not sure, but it is potentially very bad. We have a man in the ED, probably dead by now, who has some sort of bad virus. He came in earlier this morning with a high fever, vomiting, and a sore throat. He just got worse and worse until he coded. They were working on him a few minutes ago, but they were about to call it.”

“What the hell did he have? The flu? I didn’t know the flu could kill you so quick,” Jack commented. The police commander’s eyes were wide with fear. Hospital germs and things he didn’t know about scared him, but no one was braver in a pursuing criminals and advocating for victims than Jack Francoise.

“I hope it’s only the flu,” Monique said. “We would be really lucky if that’s the case. Robert, what do you think it is? Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

Robert noted the intense fire in Monique’s eyes. She was absolutely putting it together. Robert briefly thought about just how well Monique was doing. Not many physicians recovering from a serious head injury could have put the possibility of a viral contamination together as quickly as Monique.

Alex stared at Robert and Monique, paralyzed with fear. “Oh my goodness, Robert, you all don’t think … Oh, no! Please tell me you are not thinking we have a hemorrhagic virus?”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t know, Alex. I certainly hope not, but we have called the CDC and the military. Jack, HAZMAT is on their way.”

Jack immediately stood and grabbed Monique’s wheel chair. “We’re getting the hell out of dodge, Monique. If there is something going around, I surely don’t want you to catch it.” With Monique’s wheelchair handles firmly in his grip, Jack turned to Alex and Robert and added, “Be back soon. This could be bad. Don’t forget the President is due here in two days. You know, Operation Fix America and all that crap. I’ve already met with the advance team and they’re rattling on about some terrorist stuff.”

Alex felt her stomach sink. She’d forgotten the President was coming. But so was her grandfather and half of Congress. Adam Patrick Lee was one of the most influential Congressmen in Washington and was part of a powerful bipartisan ad hoc committee assigned to clean up Washington. In additional, he was a critical member of almost all committees for national defense.

Robert nodded, turned to Alex, and said, “He’s right. The infectious disease docs are meeting me in a few minutes in the ED conference room. Can you gather up administration and attend? ”

“Of course. There’s not many of us. Don’s on vacation, but I will get the others. Pretty much it’s just Liz.” Alex smiled only for Robert. “Ain’t it nice?” she said jokingly, as she referred to missing CEO, Don Montgomery.

Robert gave her a half smile and said sardonically, “Don’s on vacation, huh, perfect. He’s generally a pain during these kinds of things anyway.”

Alex nodded and added, “Oh, Robert, what are we going to do if we have a bioterrorism threat?”

“The very best we can, Alex, just like we always do. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Alex followed him out of the Cajun Café, visibly upset about what might be happening.

Chapter 4

The mood in the ED conference room was highly charged and palpably tense. Seated around the table were Dr. Dave Broderick, the head of infectious disease at CCMC, Dr. Tim Smith from the Tulane Medical Center Tropical and Infectious Medicine Division, Elizabeth Tippett, media relations specialist for the hospital, Robert, and Alex. Missing were Dr. John Ashley, chief of medicine, who was on sabbatical and Don Montgomery, the supercilious and obnoxious CEO who was on vacation in the Caribbean. Also absent was the useless chief of nursing, Betty Favre. Rumor was that she was on the trip to the Caribbean with Don.

“Tim, what do you and Dave think we’re dealing with here?” Robert asked, his face grave. He was feeling the full weight of his responsibility as interim director of medicine for CCMC in John Ashley’s absence.

Dave shook his balding grey head. “I’m not sure, Robert. It is a viral outbreak of some type but it doesn’t appear to be Ebola or Marburg due to the onset of symptoms and hasty death of the one patient. Generally, it takes several days to develop and for the symptoms to become so severe.”

“Could it be rapidly mutating and that’s the reason the guy died so quickly?” Alex questioned.

“Possibly, but I don’t think so. And I certainly hope not,” Dr. Smith replied. “If it is, we’re in for a really bad time. There are currently six species of Ebola that are named for where they occurred. Bundabugo, Ivory, Cossi, Reston, Sudan, and Zaire. Of course, the very worst species, the one with the 90 percent kill rate, is Zaire. The Reston case is the only US outbreak and that occurred in Reston, Virginia in 2005.”

Robert nodded his head. “Yeah, I remember that well. I was a resident at UVA in Charlottesville . That outbreak was near DC and there was a childcare center next door. It was pretty hush- hush.”

“Yeah, it was, but they were quickly able to identify and control it. That’s what we have to do here,” Tim replied to Robert. “When does the CDC get here?”

“Should be here in about 20 minutes. They are coming by helicopter from Atlanta. The folks from the Special Pathogens Branch. They will also be sending their mobile unit up as well. The mobile unit can handle quick testing with the most current technology for virus determination and testing. That will take another five hours.”   Robert paused to answer his cell phone.

“Sandy, what’s up?” Robert’s faced grimaced as he listened to her words.

“What, Robert, what,” Alex persisted as she stared at Robert’s anxious face.

“There are two more patients who just came into the ED. Same symptoms of nausea, vomiting, high fever. Fred Patterson needs help so I’ll go over there if you guys will meet and direct the CDC when they get in. Their ETA is momentary.” Robert turned to Alex and Elizabeth, “Can you all figure out the best way to handle this with the staff and media? Frankly, I am more worried about our own staff than the media.” Robert headed for the door.

“We will, but we aren’t saying anything until we talk to the CDC,” Alex assured him. “We are doing this right!”

Just then the hospital overhead page center announced, “CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE, ICU.”

Tim and Dave stared at each other. Tim said, “Well, Dave, that’s probably number two, the second patient that was admitted.   Let’s get up there and see what we have.” Before he left the room, he turned and said to Alex, Robert and Liz, “Remember it could be many things other than Ebola. It could be Marburg, Lassa, Dengue fever, who knows? I feel pretty confident, at this point, that it’s a hemorrhagic fever, but it could also be something that we have never heard of.”

Alex and Elizabeth shared a stunned look. This couldn’t be good, Alex thought to herself.

“Alex, phone up there and make sure they are using HAZMAT including the positive pressure personnel gear with the segregated air supply.” God, I hope they are, Tim prayed to himself. “Also, make sure they have two extra pressure suits for Dave and me. Thanks.”

Chapter 5

The medical center was bustling. CCMC was going pretty well, under the circumstances, with a viral outbreak and potential bioterrorism threat. The medical and surgical units were quiet, but the emergency department was frenetic with activity. Emotions were intense and staff moved at a feverish pace. ED physicians, nurses, respiratory therapists and other staff were dressed in full hazmat gear, and while the hospital ED was closed to all outside traffic and only admitting patients with viral-like illnesses.

Alex was amazed as she looked through the glass at Sandy Pilsner. Sandy appeared relatively calm in the wake of a potential disaster. She seemed to have adjusted well to her hazmat positive air pressure suit and air hose, and seemed in control as she directed the ED and the Center for Disease Control personnel. Alex was convinced Sandy could handle anything, and she pretty much had over the past year. Boy, we are lucky to have skilled folks like her, Alex thought to herself.

“Hey girl, what’s up?” Sandy asked through the glass partition.

“You tell me, Sandy. How’s it going in there?”

Sandy shrugged her shoulders. “Pretty good, I guess, considering. The CDC team leader is Dr. Yvette Charmaine who is from, guess where, New Orleans.”

Alex was surprised, “Great, how is she?”

“Yep, she’s one of us. She’s an LSU undergrad, Harvard Medical School and an infectious disease residency at Johns Hopkins. Doesn’t get much better than that, huh?”

Alex, always the Virginia girl, gave Sandy a quick smile. “Well, not too bad, I guess. But a stint at University of Virginia wouldn’t have hurt her,” Alex smiled playfully. “Give me a report, can you?”

“Sure, CDC hasn’t named the virus. They are meeting with all of you, with administration, shortly with an update. We have three new admissions, one is currently meeting the criteria for the virus we saw earlier today and he has been isolated in the first trauma room. The other two are being worked up. We have a total of two confirmed, one dead and a total of five admissions, including the deceased patient. CDC decided to keep the known viral patients together to decrease any chance of contagion and have set up an infirmary in trauma rooms 2 and 3. Trauma 4 and 5 are available if we need them.”

Alex nodded. “I sure hope we don’t need then. How about the staff?”

“Stressed, but OK. They are getting tired. You know that no one can leave the hospital, right? We’re working 50 percent now and have let the others rest. The stress of the staff is the worse part.”

Sandy continued on seeing Alex’ prompt, “It would be good to keep the same staff working until we figure out what’s happening, less chance of cross contamination and besides, I am sure all of the lucky ED staff who are not working today will be happy to have a few extra days off, right?”

“Yep, I am sure. I wish I wasn’t here,” Alex admitted.

“Yeah, me too. How’s Don taking this? I know how he is in emergencies and he is probably beside himself with the impact of bioterrorism on our image.” Sandy shook her head.

Alex gave Sandy a great big smile and said, “Don’s on vacation, in Aruba. So help me, we cannot reach him and that’s just fine. Of course, he wouldn’t come back anyway because he is such a chicken.”

Sandy gave her a big, wide grin. “I think that’s a blessing for you, Alex.”

“Yeah, it is. Robert and I are running the place. Scary, isn’t it! Wish us luck.”

Sandy gave Alex, ‘the look’ that Alex immediately recognized as she added, “Al, you and Robert really need to be running a life together. You know how much he loves you.”

Alex cut her off. “Not now, Sandy. Let’s talk when this is over. I don’t have time for this right now. Anything else I can do for you?” Alex’s voice was curt.

Sandy looked a little hurt with Alex’s reaction, but said, “No, I’ll call you when the CDC wants to report.”

“Thanks, girl. Love you,” Alex said as she hurried off, aware she had been rude to Sandy. I just wish they would all leave me the hell alone about Robert. I am sick of it. But I shouldn’t have been mean to her, on this day especially.

Chapter 6

Ali ducked into an equipment storage closet and dialed his brother’s cell phone, a fearful dread thudding in his heart.

“Allo,” Nazir answered on the second ring.

“Nazir, there is a bioterrorism outbreak here at CCMC and it’s not us,” Ali said softly into the phone.

“Whatever are you talking about? How could there be?” Nazir was stunned.

Ali was careful with his response. “I don’t know who it is. We haven’t isolated the virus yet, but it has already killed at least one person that I know of. There are others who are sick. The CDC is here.”

“Who could do this?” Nazir demanded, fear in his voice.

“No idea but I’d guess Vadim. Gotta go,” Ali said, and hung up the phone.

Nazir could not sit, and paced incessantly around his Marigny apartment. Could Ali be right? Was Vadim not to be trusted? Surely, he wouldn’t be a big enough idiot to double-cross Nazir and the cell members. They were his countrymen. They were fighting for the same cause. Besides, a double-cross would be a confirmation of an immediate death. Should he call his fellow cell members and ask for a meeting? No, he thought. This was his mission and he didn’t want anyone to doubt his ability. Better to just wait and see what Ali finds out

He stuck his memory card into his cell phone and began to listen to Jihadist hymns to settle himself down, calm his fears, and renew his commitment. The real truth was that he would need to run away if this mission failed because they would murder him and his brother without reservation. He would no longer have any respect or trust. Allah, please guide me, he prayed. Finally, the jihadist hymns singing of victory and a new world calmed him and he dozed off.   It didn’t matter that the memory card was merely propaganda for recruitment into Jihad. To Nazir, it was a lullaby giving him comfort and confirmation of his cause.

Continued….

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