Free Contagion by Robin Cook

that also secured the seat.
         Standing within the shadow of the hospital, Jack glanced up at its soaring facade. It had been an old, respected, university-affiliated, proprietary hospital in its previous life. AmeriCare had gobbled it up during the fiscally difficult times the government had unwittingly created in health care in the early 1990s. Although Jack knew revenge was far from a noble emotion, he savored the knowledge that he was about to hand AmeriCare a public relations bomb.
         Inside Jack went to the information booth and asked about Dr. Carl Wainwright. He learned that the man was an AmeriCare internist whose office was in the attached professional building. The receptionist gave Jack careful directions.
         Fifteen minutes later, Jack was in the man's waiting room. After Jack flashed his medical examiner's badge, which looked for all intents and purposes like a police badge, the receptionist wasted no time in letting Dr. Wainwright know he was there. Jack was immediately shown into the doctor's private office, and within minutes the doctor himself appeared.
         Dr. Carl Wainwright was prematurely white-haired and slightly stooped over. His face, however, was youthful with bright blue eyes. He shook hands with Jack and motioned for him to sit down.
         “It's not every day we're visited by someone from the medical examiner's office,” Dr. Wainwright said.
         “I'd be concerned if it were,” Jack said.
         Dr. Wainwright looked confused until he realized Jack was kidding. Dr. Wainwright tittered. “Right you are,” he said.
         “I've come about your patient Donald Nodelman,” Jack said, getting right to the point. “We have a presumptive diagnosis of plague.”
         Dr. Wainwright's mouth dropped open. “That's impossible,” he said when he'd recovered enough to speak.
         Jack shrugged. “I guess it's not,” he said. “Fluorescein antibody for plague is quite reliable. Of course, we haven't yet grown it out.”
         “My goodness,” Dr. Wainwright managed. He rubbed a nervous palm across his face. “What a shock.”
         “It is surprising,” Jack agreed. “Especially since the patient had been in the hospital for five days before his symptoms started.”
         “I've never heard of nosocomial plague,” Dr. Wainwright said.
         “Nor have I,” Jack said. “But it was pneumonic plague, not bubonic, and as you know the incubation period is shorter for pneumonic, probably only two to three days.”
         “I still can't believe it,” Dr. Wainwright said. “Plague never entered my thoughts.”
         “Anybody else sick with similar symptoms?” Jack asked.
         “Not that I know of,” Dr. Wainwright said, “but you can rest assured that we will find out immediately.”
         “I'm curious about this man's lifestyle,” Jack said. “His wife denied any recent travel or visitors from areas endemic to plague. She also doubted he'd come in contact with wild animals. Is that your understanding as well?”
         “The patient worked in the garment district,” Dr. Wainwright said. “He did bookkeeping. He never traveled. He wasn't a hunter. I'd been seeing him frequently over the last month, trying to get his diabetes under control.”
         “Where was he in the hospital?” Jack asked.
         “On the medical ward on the seventh floor,” Dr. Wainwright said. “Room seven-oh-seven. I remember the number specifically.”
         “Single room?” Jack asked.
         “All our rooms are singles,” Dr. Wainwright said.
         “That's a help,” Jack said. “Can I see the room?”
         “Of course,” Dr. Wainwright said. “But I think I should call Dr. Mary Zimmerman, who's our infection-control officer. She's got to know about this immediately.”
         “By all means,” Jack said. “Meanwhile, would you mind if I went up to the seventh floor and