I sat on the bed, alone and depressed, and unwilling to contemplate how much trouble

I might be in. Minutes passed. An outer door loudly shut, and mine swung open wide.

'Welcome to the Slammer,' Colonel Fujitsubo announced as he walked in.

He wore a Racal hood and heavy blue vinyl suit, which he plugged into one of the coiled air lines.

'John,' I said. 'I'm not ready for this.'

'Kay, be sensible.'

His strong face seemed severe, even frightening behind plastic, and I felt vulnerable and alone.

'I need to let people know where I am,' I said.

He walked over to the bed, tearing open a paper packet, a small vial and medicine dropper in a gloved hand.

'Let's see your shoulder. It's time to revaccinate. And we're going to treat you to a little vaccinia immune globulin, too, for good measure.'

'My lucky day,' I said.

He rubbed my right shoulder with an alcohol pad. I stood very still as he incised my flesh twice with a scarifier and dripped in serum.

'Hopefully, this isn't necessary,' he added.

'No one hopes it more than me.'

'The good news is, you should have a lovely anamnestic response, with a higher level of the antibody than ever before. Vaccination within twenty-four to forty-eight hours of exposure will usually do the trick.'

I did not reply. He knew as well as I did that it might already be too late.

'We'll autopsy her at oh-nine-hundred hours and keep you for a few days beyond that, just to be sure,' he said, dropping wrappers in the trash. 'Are you having any symptoms at all?'

'My head hurts and I'm cranky,' I said.

He smiled, his eyes on mine. Fujitsubo was a brilliant physician who had sailed through the ranks of the Army's Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, or AFIP, before taking over the command of USAMRIID. He was divorced and a few years older than me. He got a folded blanket from the foot of the bed, shook it open and draped it around my shoulders. He pulled up a chair and straddled it, his arms on top of the backrest.

'John, I was exposed almost two weeks ago,' I said.

'By the homicide case.'

'I should have it by now.'

'Whatever it is. The last case of smallpox was in October I977, in Somalia, Kay. Since then it has been eradicated from the face of the earth.'

'I know what I saw on the electron microscope. It could have been transmitted through unnatural exposure.'

'Deliberately, you're saying.'

'I don't know.' I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open. 'But don't you find it odd that the first person possibly infected was also murdered?'

'I find all of this odd.' He got up. 'But beyond offering biologically safe containment for the body and you, there isn't much we can do.'

'Of course there is. There isn't anything you can't do.' I did not want to hear of his jurisdictional conflicts.

'At the moment, this is a public health concern, not a military concern. You know we can't just yank this right out from under CDC. At the worst, what we've got is an outbreak of some sort. And that's what they do best.'

'Tangier Island should be quarantined.'

'We'll talk about that after the autopsy.'

'Which I plan to do,' I added.

'See how you feel,' he said as a nurse appeared at the door.

He conferred briefly with her on his way out, then she was walking in, dressed in another blue suit. Young and annoyingly cheerful, she was explaining that she worked out, of Walter Reed Hospital but helped here when they had patients in special containment, which, fortunately, wasn't often.

'Last time was when those two lab workers got exposed to partially thawed field mice blood contaminated with Hantavirus,' she said. 'Those hemorrhagic diseases are nasty. I guess they stayed here about fifteen days. Dr Fujitsubo says you want a phone.' She laid a flimsy robe on the bed. 'I'll have to get that for you later. Here's some Advil and water.' She set them on the bedside table. 'Are you hungry?'

'Cheese and crackers, something like that, would be nice.' My stomach was so raw I

was almost sick.

'How are you feeling besides the headache?'

'Fine, thanks.'

'Well, let's hope that doesn't change. Why don't you go on in the bathroom, empty your bladder, clean up and get under the covers. There's the TV.' She pointed, speaking simply as if I were in second grade.

'What about all my things?'

'They'll sterilize them, don't you worry.' She smiled at me.

I could not get warm, and took another shower. Nothing would wash away this wretched day, and I continued to see a sunken mouth gaping at me, eyes half open and blind, an arm hanging stiffly off a foul deathbed. When I emerged from the bathroom, a plate of cheese and crackers had been left for me, and the TV was on. But there was no phone.

'Oh hell,' I muttered as I got under the covers again.

The next morning, my breakfast arrived by pass box, and I set the tray on my lap as I watched the 'Today' show, which I ordinarily never got to do. Martha Stewart was whipping up something with meringue while I picked at a soft-boiled egg that wasn't quite warm. I could not eat, and did not know if my back ached because I was tired or from some other reason I would not contemplate.

'How are we doing?' The nurse appeared, breathing HEPA-filtered air.

'Don't you get hot in that thing?' I pointed my fork.

'I guess I would if I stayed in it for long periods of time.' She was carrying a digital thermometer. 'All right. This will just take a minute.'

She inserted it into my mouth while I stared up at the TV. Now a doctor was being interviewed about this year's flu shot, and I shut my eyes until a beep said my time was up.

'Ninety-seven point nine. Your temperature's actually a little low. Ninety-eight point six is normal.'

She wrapped a BP cuff around my upper arm.

'And your blood pressure.' She vigorously squeezed the bulb, pumping air. 'One hundred and eight over seventy. I believe you're almost dead.'

'Thanks,' I mumbled. 'I need a phone. No one knows where I am.'

'What you need is to get lots of rest.' Now she had out the stethoscope, which she pushed down the front of my scrubs. 'Deep breaths.' It was cold everywhere she moved it, her face serious as she listened. 'Again.' Then she moved it to my back as we continued the routine.

'Could you please have Colonel Fujitsubo stop by.'

'I'll certainly leave him a message. Now you cover up.' She pulled the blanket up to my chin. 'Let me get you some more water. How's your headache?'

'Fine,' I lied. 'You really must ask him to stop by.'

'I'm sure he will when he can. I know he's very busy.'

Her patronizing manner was beginning to really get to me. 'Excuse me,' I said in a demanding tone. 'I have repeatedly requested a phone, and I'm beginning to feel like I'm in prison.'

'You know what they call this place,' she sang. 'And usually, patients don't get…'

'I don't care what they usually get.' I stared hard at her as her demeanor changed.

'You just calm right down.' Eyes glinted behind clear plastic, her voice raised.

'Isn't she an awful patient? Doctors always are,' Colonel Fujitsubo said as he strode into the room.

The nurse looked at him, stunned. Then her resentful eyes fixed on me as if she did not believe it could possibly be true.

'One phone coming up,' he went on as he carried in a fresh orange suit, which he laid on the foot of the bed. 'Beth, I guess you've been introduced to Dr Scarpetta, chief medical examiner of Virginia and consulting forensic pathologist for the FBI?' To me, he added, 'Put this on. I'll be back for you in two minutes.'

The nurse frowned as she picked up my tray. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

'You didn't do a very good job on your eggs,' she said. She set the tray in the pass box. I was pulling on the suit.