Chapter 5
Dr. Gregory House sat in the clinic examination room, playing Gameboy while ignoring the complaints of an elderly woman with too much time on her hands. There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Lisa Cuddy entered the room. House gazed up appreciatively at Cuddy's cleavage and said, "Good morning, Dr. Cuddy. To what do we owe the ..."
"Oh, be quiet, House. I'll take over here. You have a patient."
"No, I don't. I haven't selected a patient in three days. Nothing but boring cases."
"Well, you have one now." She held up a folder. "A Dr. Charles Eppes, a math genius who was participating in a seminar over at Fine Hall. He collapsed on stage with acute abdomen..."
"Most math geeks would kill for a cute abdomen," House offered.
"He's also has bloody diarrhea and is vomiting."
"Gross, but still boring. Next you'll be telling me he's dehydrated. Big news. Have you considered any of the bacterial causes, shegellosis, salmonellosis..."
"The NSA specifically requested you."
"NSA? Never Smile Again? Not Specially Adorable?"
"The National Security Agency."
"Oh, Never Seen Again! National Society of Asswipes?"
"Shut up, House."
"You're repeating yourself, Dr. Cuddy."
"And you are taking this case. I'll cover your clinic hours."
"Just today?"
"And tomorrow."
"If this case isn't the thirty minute slam dunk I think it will be, then it's worth at least a week of clinic hours."
"A week?
"What, would you prefer two weeks?"
"Two weeks, then." She handed him the folder. "He's in the ER now. Go see your patient, House."
House held the Gameboy and folder in his left hand, picked up his cane with his right hand and pulled himself painfully to his feet. "No, Dr. Cuddy, that is why I have minions. My minions will see our new patient. I get paid to think deep thoughts. I'll bet you another week of clinic hours he's got a common bacterial infection."
"You're on," Cuddy said, "Now get out of here."
By noon, Don had contacted Assistant Director Merrick, and arranged for Megan Reeves to head up his team while he was gone. He and Alan were on their way to LAX, with a couple of hastily packed suitcases in the back of Don's SUV. Their plane was due to leave at 2:15, and arrive in Newark a little after 10:30 at night Don had called Amita to fill her in on their plans and see how Charlie was doing.
"Oh, Don, I don't know. They're running some tests, and they haven't let us see him yet. Of course the NSA agents are with him, but I don't trust them. I've got the keys to Charlie's rental car, so I'll pick you up at the airport."
"You don't have to do that. We've got a rental car waiting there for us. Amita?"
"Yes?"
"Are you okay? This has to be really hard on you."
Amita sighed. "It is. I'm really glad you and your dad are coming out. I don't know if I could handle this ... Hey, Don. You didn't make hotel reservations, did you?"
"No. Why?"
"Charlie's room at the inn has a sleeper sofa besides the bed. You two can stay there. The inn is just across the street from campus. It's a beautiful place. Charlie picked it ... " she stopped, and Don could hear her struggling to regain control. "I'm sorry," she finally said.
"Amita, it'll be okay. It sounds like he's at the best hospital. Dad and I will be in Princeton around midnight. I'll call you when we're closer. You and Larry take care, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Don."
After Don hang up, Alan said, "Well?"
"She doesn't know anything more yet. They're doing tests. It'll be okay, Dad. This doctor is supposed to be the best in the country."
Alan shook his head. "I hope you're right, Donnie. I just don't know."
Dr. House stood in his office, dry marker in his hand, poised over the whiteboard. On the top of the board, he had written, "NSA acute abdomen." He turned to the three young doctors in the room, and said, "All right. We have David Eppes,"
Dr. Allison Cameron, a pretty brunette, looked up from the file, "Charles Eppes."
House looked annoyed. "Whatever. He presented with acute abdomen, bloody diarrhea, and bloody vomit. Differential diagnosis?"
Dr. Robert Chase, a blond Australian said, "Bacterial. Shigellosis, salmonellosis, colitis, amebiasis..."
"Congratulations." House wrote 'bacteria' on the white board. "You get to do a whole passel of stool cultures. Next?"
Dr. Eric Foreman, a black man with a bored expression on his face said, "IBD?"
"Sorry we don't have anything neurological for you, Foreman. But you were required to take some general classes, weren't you? Get with the program."
"I said IBD," Foreman said, scowling.
"Oh, sorry. I thought you said 'I be dee.' I thought it was some ghetto expression I was unfamiliar with." He wrote 'inflammatory bowel disease'. And you are the big winner here. You and Cameron get to do a colonoscopy. Any other possibilities?"
"Toxins?" Foreman suggested.
House wrote 'toxins?' and said, "Chase, while you're playing in the poop, look for toxins, too. Anything else?"
The three were silent for a moment. "Oh, come on, people. You have each paid a small fortune for your medical educations, and this is all you can come up with? What about parasites? What about anthrax?"
"Anthrax?" Chase said, reaching for the file. "Has he been out of the country recently?"
Cameron shook her head, flipping through the files. "He says no. Last trip out of the country was the UK two years ago."
"Cameron," House said patiently, "how many times have I told you: people lie. Talk to him again."
"Why?" Foreman said, "So he can lie to us again?"
"No," House said waving his hand dramatically, "so you can intimidate him into confessing. Is he receiving blood?"
"Yes," Chase said.
"Well, when he's filled up, take some back."
"For?" Cameron asked.
"For more tests. But make sure he hasn't been started on antibiotics first. They'll screw up the results of some of the test. As I'm sure you know. And after you get the blood, start him on a nice cocktail of ciprofloxacin, and your choice of one or two from column B – ampicillin, clindamycin, whatever. Your choice."
"Why?" Chase asked.
"Because in spite of Edward Eppes'..."
"Charles," the three young doctors said in unison.
"Ooh, very nice. Did you rehearse all morning? In spite of CHARLES Eppes' contention that he has not been out of the country, I am going to assume he ate some anthrax somewhere along the way. Shhhh!" He held up a hand. "I will save you the trouble of asking me why. If we wait for the tests and it turns out to be anthrax, he'll be dead. If we treat him for anthrax and it turns out to be something else, no harm." He put both hands on the head of his cane and started at his three students. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get going. Scat!"
They had finally moved Charlie into a fishbowl of a room, and allowed Amita and Larry to join him. As they entered the room, Agent O'Connell glanced up from the book he was reading. "Hi," he said. He glanced at Charlie. "He's been sleeping for a while. They finally gave him something for the pain."
"That's good," Amita said as she pulled a chair over to Charlie's bedside. She blinked back tears as she looked at his pale, still face. She touched his cheek. Hot and dry. Fever. She looked up at the IV bags and the tubes running into his arm. "Blood? They're giving him a transfusion?"
"Internal bleeding," O'Connell said. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Listen, Dr. Ramanujan, Dr. Fleinhardt, we don't have to be on opposite sides in this."
Amita said, "There were no 'sides' until you showed up and took over."
"I realize that. But can we start over? We all want the same thing now. We want Dr. Eppes to recover."
"I don't believe that is exactly the case," Larry said.
"What? What are you talking about?" O'Connell asked.
Amita decided to try explaining. "Well, we want Charlie to be okay because we love him. You want to protect your secrets, and not lose a good consultant. So while we seem to want the same thing, we want it for totally different reasons. In fact, I am willing to guess that if you believe Charlie is about to reveal something secret you would do whatever it took to stop him." She turned back to Charlie and brushed a curl back from his forehead.
O'Connell opened his mouth to answer then just shook his head and went back to reading his book.