Someone knocked on the front door.
David chucked the half-smoked cigarette down the garbage disposal, then carried his coffee mug to the door. There were curtains covering the vertical strip of glass beside the door, which he pulled aside. Three figures stood on the porch. A sleek black sedan was parked out in the street by the mailbox. He thought they might be cops or federal agents.
He unlocked the door and opened it. The man in the center, flanked by two men in dark suits, wore a tweed sports coat with suede patches on the elbows and a garish pink bow tie over a blue-and-white checked shirt. He was dark-skinned, slender, nervous-looking. The man’s face was narrow and pinched, though somehow not unfriendly.
“Mr. David Arlen?” the man said, extending a laminated badge with his photo on it for David’s inspection. He spoke with a heavy Indian accent. “My name is Dr. Sanjay Kapoor. I am the head epidemiologist and director of the recently established Washington branch of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Office of Infectious Diseases.”
“The CDC?”
“You are the husband of Kathleen Arlen, is that correct? She is still located at this residence?”
“I think you’d better tell me what this is—”
“Hon?” Kathy said, coming down the hall in a pink terrycloth bathrobe. “What’s going on?”
“Mrs. Arlen?” Dr. Kapoor said, peering past David.
“Yes.” She came up beside David, and he put a hand on her shoulder.
“These guys are with the CDC, hon,” David said.
Dr. Kapoor repeated his introduction again, then said, “I came here to speak candidly with you, Mrs. Arlen.” His dark eyes shifted toward David. “You and your husband, of course.”
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“You subjected to a blood test at the Spring Hill Medical Center this past quarter,” Dr. Kapoor said.
“Yes,” she said. “But I was told I was okay. The blood test came back negative.”
“Is she sick?” David said. He pulled Kathy away from the door and took a step in front of her. She hugged his arm.
“No, Mr. Arlen.” Astoundingly, Dr. Kapoor’s pinched face broke into a smile. A silver incisor glittered like tinsel. “Quite the opposite, in fact. May we come in?”
49
He came awake as if pulling himself from quicksand. His head hurt and his neck was stiff. He was in a car, but he wasn’t driving . . . and this realization set off his internal panic alarm, causing him to bolt upright in his seat.
“Hey,” said the woman behind the wheel. “Take it easy, okay?”
Her name was Ganymede, David recalled. He rubbed his eyes, then wiped the scum from his lips. It was still dark. The glowing green numerals on the dashboard clock read 3:11. Rubbing at a kink in his neck, he turned and saw that Ellie was still asleep, sprawled out across the Caddy’s backseat.
“Pleasant dreams?” Gany said. She had her window cracked and was smoking a cigarette.
“Do you think I could get one of those?”
She handed him her lit smoke, then dug a fresh one out of the pack that was wedged in the console between an empty cardboard cup and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. A road map was tucked down into the space between the console and the driver’s seat.
He sucked the life out of the cig, relishing it. A sweet mentholated air permeated his lungs. “Ah, Jesus,” he muttered.
“Better than sex, isn’t it?” Gany said.
Again, David peered into the backseat to make sure his daughter was sleeping. Then he sighed. “Goddamn, it really is.” It was almost enough to take his mind off the throbbing ache in his left arm. He extended the arm, bent it at the elbow, straightened it again. The bandage-work Heck Ramirez had done was holding up—there was no blood seeping through the gauze—but the pain, he feared, had intensified while he slept. The whole arm felt tender and hot.
“There’s some Tylenol in my purse, if you need it. Back there.” Gany nodded toward the backseat.
Her purse was on the floor, a slouching gray satchel that looked like the gutted carcass of an armadillo. He fumbled through it until he located the tiny white bottle of tablets. He shook three into his hand, popped them into his mouth, and dry-swallowed them.
“I’m going to need you to take over for a while,” Gany said. “I’m running on fumes here. You okay with that?”
“Yeah. I gotta take a leak, though.”
She pointed to the empty cardboard cup in the cup holder.
“You serious?” he said.
Gany laughed. “No. I’m messing with you.”