Free Lethal Misconduct by C. G. Cooper

their travels. Few things spooked them and even fewer made them stare in awe. But that’s what happened when Price walked in the door. They all wanted to know the same thing, whether or not this doctor was, in fact, the key to the cure for one of the world’s most deadly diseases.
    Their number made Price hesitate, pausing at the door. Cal ignored the nervous look on his face and asked, “Can I get you something to drink, Doc? Water? Beer?”
    Price nodded and stepped inside. “Do you have anything stronger?”
    There were chuckles from the rest of the men, Cal among them.
    “Sure. Whiskey. Bourbon. Vodka…”
    “Whiskey, please. Neat.”
    Cal smiled and fetched the drink for their guest. Dr. Price downed it in one swig and handed it back to Cal.
    “Another?” asked Cal, eyebrow raised.
    “Please.”
     
    +++
     
    They convened in the War Room. Cal asked Dr. Higgins to join them. It never hurt to have the master of the human psyche in attendance. The others scattered around the room included Daniel, Trent, Jonas, Gaucho and Neil.
    Jonas was almost giddy, still having a hard time believing that his hunch had nabbed the interesting specimen who now sat nursing his third drink. “You’ve got to tell us, Dr. Price, is it for real? Are you really healing people?”
    A sip and a nod later, Price said, “It’s true.”
    Silence in the room. They’d been talking about it since Jonas had floated his crazy idea. All eyes were on the mysterious Dr. Price.
    “How did you do it?” asked Neil, leaning closer just like his friends.
    Price didn’t answer at first, his hesitation apparent despite his alcohol-coaxed calm. Finally, he sat his drink on the conference table, folded his arms across his chest and began his tale.
     
    +++
     
    Three years earlier, Price was in the middle of containing four separate Ebola outbreaks in Africa. It was his team who was sending much needed medicine and staff to assist local officials. Dr. Price had already made seven trips himself.
    It was at the end of an exhausting Friday that one of his assistants came to him with a shot in the dark.
    “Dr. Price, I know you probably don’t have time for this, but I thought I’d put it in your inbox.”
    Price kept an open door policy with his staff, always encouraging them to be creative and experiment on their own. He’d found that option to be rare in the confines of government funding, but his time with the SEALs had taught him the value of individual initiative coupled with a strong team dynamic.
    “I’ll take a look at it this weekend, Sheila. Why don’t you tell the others to head on out. I’m about to leave myself.”
    It was a white lie and Sheila knew it. Dr. Price rarely left the office before 9pm. There was always some new outbreak to look after or a lead on a cure.
    After making the rounds through the confines of his small domain, gently prodding his staff to go home for the night, Price headed back into his paper-strewn office, taking in the mess the week had rained down on his once orderly second home. He was tempted to lie down on the olive drab military cot in the corner, but grabbed another cup of coffee instead and decided to attack his inbox. It was overflowing as usual, so he did what he always did: started from the top.
    He made quick work of the thin report Sheila had submitted, wondering at first why she’d brought it to his attention. It had nothing to do with infectious disease, making it outside their purview. Nevertheless, Price read through the interesting notes, impressed by the connections. She had a flair for storytelling, and this was no exception.
    Price looked up from the report and closed his eyes. He didn’t have time for fantasy, but Sheila’s conclusions were intriguing, if a bit farfetched. In her concise abstract she’d given a brief history of an obscure tribe of natives living in a dense region of the Amazon rainforest in south-eastern Colombia.
    According to Sheila, the area had one of the lowest