You Can't NORBAC Again.
By Simahoyo
Ebola is a real crisis and while NORBAC scientist's work is shanghaied by Riddlemeyer, Dr. Maura Isles is determined to end this crisis. Caution, Dr. Sandstrom opens his mouth, and bad language falls out. Crossover of Regenesis and Rizzoli and Isles.
October used to be my favorite month. I loved the trees bursting into color, the crispness in the air, and the fact the Jack and I were still seeing each other. It had to be some sort of record for me. But then my cell phone rang, and it was Daddy.
"Daddy! How are you? It's so nice to hear from you."
"Maura."
His voice was so tight it scared me. He never sounds like that unless he was something awful to tell me. "Is Mom alright?"
"She's right here with me on the other line."
"Hi Darling."
Both of them? Who died? Aunt Sophie? "What's wrong?"
"I called before you saw this on the news. It came over the wire just a minute ago. Some of the doctors from Doctors Without Borders have died from Ebola."
My stomach was aching. I knew what he was going to say "Ian."
"Yes. I am so, so sorry."
I needed to process this. Mom shuts herself away to paint, and I just needed to be alone...
"Darling, do you need us to come to Boston? And please don't do anything reckless."
"Like flying to Liberia to help? I'm already mentally packing."
"I knew she would. I told you, Connie."Dad sounded worried.
"Bennie, calm down. Darling, I have something else I would really like you to consider. You remember me talking about that lovely young man Wes Fielding, from NORBAC? He had to take a six month leave of absence, and they are planning to organize several teams to go to West Africa now to help. The Americans insist on an American to replace him, and the Canadians are pushing for a Canadian. You are the perfect candidate."
I froze. I needed to process and suddenly all this? "Merde! I can't think about that right now. I'll call you back when I can think. Please."
"I understand, Kiddo. Backing off for now." There was a long silence. "We love you, you know."
I felt like an ungrateful rat when I just hung up. Then I let the tears go.
Time rewound itself, blips of sound, blurs of motion, and Mr. Isles was hanging up his telephone.
"She's taking it about like I thought she would. Poor kid."
Constance hung up her extension, and walked over to her husband. She reached out and rubbed his back. "She always needed time when she got bad news, and no matter what I thought of Dr. Faulkner, she really did love him."
"I know. What do you think?"
"If we leave by six, we can be there early tomorrow. That should give her time to grieve."
"Too fast, but I'm afraid she'll be on a flight to Monrovia if we wait any longer."
Toronto, Canada
David Sandstrom was stomping up the curved metal stairs to his office, his beat up leather jacket landed on the floor, as he turned and glared at his big blackboard covered with medical theories and other data. He wrote for a minute, then turned and barked out the door, "Mayko, Bob, my office! Now!"
The sound of his fellow NORBAC scientists running up the stairs was followed by the entrance of a young Asian woman, and a slightly older Russian man.
"Where are you on the spread of Ebola outside Sierra Leon and Liberia?"
"It has crossed into Guinea, and Senegal, with separate outbreaks in Nigeria and Congo, probably from travelers.", said Mayko.
"Fuck! What are the numbers, Bob?"
"4249 infected, and 2,458 dead in Liberia, 3,352 infected and 1,183 dead in Sierra Leon, 1,472 infected and 842 dead in Guinea, 68 infected and 49 dead in Congo, 20 infected and 8 dead in Nigeria, and only one infected in Senegal."
"Damn it all, what the hell are the governments of North America doing fiddling while this hemorrhagic fever is spreading like a wild fire? I wish Wes was here. I'd call Ottawa, Washington DC and Mexico city myself..."
"God no! You are not a diplomat! As much as I'd love to see you call Riddlemeyer a pompous, ambitious buffoon, we need cooperation.", Mayko had risen slightly from her chair.
"Bob?"
"You need to find someone like Wes. Only maybe someone who speaks Spanish...or French, because last time, well. It's only for six months and then Wes will be back. Somebody who can
work with..."
"Small minds and who speaks fluent bullshit? Yeah, I'll think about it. I'd hate for this to be the final virus. Mayko, start looking for a good replacement for Wes. Bob, back to working on a vaccine."
Sandstrom looked at the blackboard again and threw his chalk at it.
Mom had always taught me never to let my enemies see me cry. So I felt that crying was a private act. It takes either a lot of emotion, or a lot of trust for me to cry in front of anyone.
I had half emptied a box of tissues when I heard a familiar rap on my door–Jack. Before I thought about my red eyes and nose, tear tracks down my face and the swelling, I opened the door to him. Alarm crossed his face, and he opened his arms. I usually back away–even from Jane, and she is my closest friend, but I found myself in his arms, getting his shoulder wet.
He closed the door and held me, then led me to the sofa so we could sit down close to my tissues. The remarkable thing is I felt safe. He let me cry until I stopped to blow my nose and look at him. Concern was written all over his face.
"Are you able to talk about it?"
I nodded. The lump in my throat made it hard to talk. I took some deep breaths. "A friend died of Ebola. He was a doctor in West Africa."
Jack's eyes were sad, and he held my hand. "One of the doctors from your days in Africa? Were you close?"
I couldn't lie to him–and I know how to bend the truth so my body doesn't react, but I still have those twinges of conscience. "We had talked about getting married, but it didn't work out. He was dedicating his life to helping people nobody cared about, and I needed to come home."
"It's terrible what happened to him–he gave his life to those people. What was his name?"
"Ian Faulkner. He was an Australian doctor who smuggled medicines past armies, rebels and bandits.."My throat closed again.
"I admire that type of person. He lived for something."
Sometimes Jack astonishes me. I sat with my mouth open. "Yes, he did. So, I'm going back there as soon as I can make arrangements. I can help." I saw Jack take a gulp of air. He paled.
"I would never stand in your way, but I am honestly afraid of losing you if you go. And I am selfish enough to hope you can help fight Ebola in another way."
"I'm feeling so much guilt about how comfortable my life is in Boston–how safe I am, and how bad people's lives are in other places. Dad always told me not to try to solve problems by throwing money at them–and that is what I have been doing."
Jack stroked my hair. "You do more that that every day–solving crimes, helping families, speaking for victims and preventing the spread of disease. He put his arms around me again. "Don't sell yourself short. Hospitals will need instruction on how to handle Ebola patients. Couldn't you teach that?"
I was tempted. Here was a chance to stay at home, be with a man I was rapidly falling in love with–if only I could get my conscience to stop using that rude, harsh voice in my mind. "The problem is there and if we don't stop it in there, it will be a repeat of what happened with AIDS. Jack, my whole body hurts and I need to get some sleep...do you want to stay?"
Jack nodded. He was willing to be my living security blanket–and I knew I would be making some major decisions tomorrow.
Karaga Island, Aleutian Islands, Alaska.
Rachel and Carlos was walking along the rocky breeding grounds of this lonely island. The wind was blowing Rachel's long, dark hair, despite the toque on her head. Carlos regretted not remembering gloves, and stopped to rub his hands between picking up various dead birds and putting them in sample bags. They had more terns than anything else, which was a shame because they were already endangered. Rachel stopped to pick up the carcase of a tufted puffin. Carlos shook his head. He always was delighted by puffins, and so many dead ones made this even more depressing. It didn't help that Rachel's annoying ex-husband, Congressman Riddelmeyer, had insisted they travel to this remote corner of the US because 20 people had come down with a virus which as beginning to look like a new variety of Avian flu. Rachel's light green eyes seemed to flame with her anger.
"Why are we doing this? Isn't there a Center for Disease Control? Right here in the United States? We need to work on Ebola, and Carl has us dinking around with this? He always did need to control everyone."
"Rachel, let's just get it done, so we can get back to our real work. I'm sorry your ex-husband is so difficult, be without Wes, we have no one to stop him. Wes needs the treatment you found for him, and we need him–if we can just find someone who could work with all those Canadian, American and Mexican egos...in three languages, we could be much more effective. Do we have enough samples?"
Rachel looked at her armload of sample bags and at the more than a dozen Carlos held. "I would say, 'yes.' Let's go."
They slept on the plane. Both had developed the habit of keeping a change of clothing at work, so they used airport restrooms to wash up, brush their teeth and call in to family.
Toronto, Canada
Back at the lab, Carlos and Rachel checked their bird samples down to the cellular level, and then looked carefully at each virus, checking every strand of DNA against the one the people had. Rachel was still steaming.
"It's a simple variation of Avian Flu. There is already an easy fix for it and a vaccine that should work. Damn it. I can't write up the report. I'll start sounding like David."
David pretend glared at her, but his eyes were dancing. I could write the report..."
When Rachel's jaw dropped, he grinned." I was joking. Carlos, you're our best diplomat, you write it."
Carlos nodded, adding under his breath, "Please get well soon, Wes."
Morning was better. I was cuddled with Jack, and my mind was working at almost normal speed. I was thinking about getting up when the doorbell rang. By that alone, I knew it wasn't anybody named Rizzoli. I threw on my robe and ran a brush through my hair. As I approached the door I knew it was my parents. Mom never gives up and neither does Dad. I opened the door.
"Hi, come on in."
We went though the hugs and kisses, but a small part of me was angry. If Mom really wants something, she is relentless. I took their coats and hung them in the closet.
"Please sit down. Would you like some coffee?"
"Darling, why don't you go ahead and get dressed? We can wait."
Merde! I had hoped for a better way for Jack to meet them, but as usual, things were spiraling out of control.
He was sitting on the bed with a puzzled look on his face. "What's going on?"
"I wasn't planning on this right now, but how would you like to meet my parents?"
TBC