“What about rimantadine?” Kathy asked.

“I’m all for it,” Jack said. “I’ll probably get some myself. It has been used to control some nosocomial influenza in the past. But again that should be up to Dr. Zimmerman.”

“I think I’ll give her a call,” Kathy said.

Jack waited while Kathy spoke to Dr. Zimmerman. Kathy was deferential but firm in explaining the apparent connection between the sick personnel and the deceased, Kevin Carpenter. Once she had spoken, she was reduced to silence punctuated only by repetitions of “yes” at certain intervals.

Eventually, Kathy hung up. She rolled her eyes. “That woman is impossible,” she said. “At any rate, she’s reluctant to do anything extraordinary, as she puts it, with just one confirmed case. She’s afraid Mr. Kelley and the AmeriCare executives would be against it for PR reasons until it was undeniably indicated.”

“What about the rimantadine?” Jack asked.

“On that she was a little more receptive,” Kathy said. “She said she’d authorize the pharmacy to order in enough for the staff, but she wasn’t going to prescribe it just yet. At any rate, I got her attention.”

“At least that’s something,” Jack agreed.

The secretary knocked and came in with the printouts Jack had wanted from central supply. He thanked the woman, and immediately began scanning them. He was impressed; it was rather extraordinary what each patient utilized. The lists were long and included everything short of medications, food, and linen.

“Anything interesting?” Kathy asked.

“Nothing that jumps out at me,” Jack admitted. “Except how similar they are. But I realize I should have asked for a control. I should have asked for a similar list from a random patient.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to get,” Kathy said. She called Mrs. Zarelli back and asked her to print one out.

“Want to wait?” Kathy said.

Jack got to his feet. “I think I’ve overstretched my luck as it is,” he said. “If you could get it and have it sent over to the medical examiner’s office, I’d be appreciative. As I mentioned, this central supply connection could be important.”

“I’d be happy to do it,” Kathy said.

Jack went to the door and furtively glanced out into the hall. Turning back to Kathy, he said, “It’s hard to get used to acting like a criminal.”

“I think we’re in your debt for your perseverance,” Kathy said. “I apologize for those who have misinterpreted your intentions.”

“Thank you,” Jack said sincerely.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Kathy asked.

“How personal?” Jack asked.

“Just about your face,” Kathy asked. “What happened? Whatever it was, it looks like it must have been painful.”

“It looks worse than it is,” Jack said. “It’s merely a reflection of the rigors of jogging in the park at night.”

Jack walked quickly through administration and across the lobby. As he stepped out into the early-spring sunshine, he felt relief. It had been the first time he’d been able to visit the General without stirring up a hornet’s nest of protest.

Jack turned right and headed east. On one of his prior visits he’d noticed a chain drugstore two blocks from the hospital. He went directly there. Kathy’s suggestion of rimantadine was a good one, and he wanted to get some for himself, especially given his intention of visiting Gloria Hernandez.

Thinking of the Hernandez woman made Jack reach into his pocket to be sure he’d not misplaced her address. He hadn’t. Unfolding the paper, he looked at it. She lived on West 144th Street, almost forty blocks north of Jack.

Arriving at the drugstore, Jack pulled open the door and entered. It was a large store with a bewildering display of merchandise. Everything, including cosmetics, school supplies, cleaning agents, stationery, greeting cards, and even automotive products, was crammed onto metal shelving. The store had as many aisles as a supermarket.

It took Jack a few minutes to find the pharmacy section, which occupied a few square feet in the back corner of the store. With as little respect as pharmacy was given, Jack felt there was a certain irony they even called the establishment a drugstore.

Jack waited in line to speak to the pharmacist. When he finally did he asked for a prescription blank, which he quickly filled out for rimantadine.

The pharmacist was dressed in an old-fashioned white, collarless pharmacist jacket with the top button undone. He squinted at the prescription and then told Jack it would take about twenty minutes.

“Twenty minutes!” Jack questioned. “Why so long? I mean, all you have to do is count out the tablets.”

“Do you want this or don’t you?” the pharmacist asked acidly.

“I want it,” Jack muttered. The medical establishment had a way of bullying people; doctors were no longer immune.

Jack turned back to the main part of the store. He had to entertain himself for twenty minutes. With no goal in mind, he wandered down aisle seven and found himself before a staggering variety of condoms.

BJ liked the idea of the drugstore from the moment he saw Jack enter. He knew it would be close quarters, and as an added attraction, there was a subway entrance right out the door. The subway was a great place to disappear.

After a quick glance up and down the street, BJ pulled open the door and stepped inside. He eyed the glass-enclosed manager’s office near the entrance, but experience told him it wouldn’t be a problem. It might take a short burst from his machine pistol just to keep everybody’s head down when he was on his way out, but that would be about it.

BJ advanced beyond the checkout registers and started glancing down the aisles, looking for either Jack or Slam. He knew if he found one, he’d quickly find the other. He hit pay dirt in aisle seven. Jack was at the very end, with Slam loitering less than ten feet away.

As BJ moved quickly down aisle six, he reached under his sweatshirt and let his hand wrap around the butt of his Tec pistol. He snapped off the safety with his thumb. When he arrived at the cross-aisle in the middle of the store, he slowed, stepped laterally, and stopped. Carefully he leaned around a display of Bounty paper towels and glanced down the remainder of aisle seven.

BJ felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. Jack was standing in the same spot, and Slam had moved over next to him. It was perfect.

BJ’s heart skipped a beat when he felt a finger tap his shoulder. He swung around. His hand was still under his sweatshirt, holding on to the holstered Tec.

“May I help you?” a bald-headed man asked.

Anger seared through BJ at having been interrupted at precisely the wrong moment. He glared at the jowled clerk and felt like busting him in the chops, but instead he decided to ignore him for the moment. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity with Jack and Slam standing nose to nose.

BJ spun back around, and as he did so he drew out the machine pistol. He started forward. He knew a single step would bring the aisle into full view.

The clerk was shocked by BJ’s sudden movement, and he didn’t see the gun. If he had, he never would have shouted “Hey” the way he did.

Jack felt on edge and jittery. He disliked the store, especially after his run-in with the pharmacist. The background elevator music and the smell of cheap cosmetics added to his discomfort. He didn’t want to be there.

As wired as he was, when he heard the clerk yell, his head shot up, and he looked in the direction of the commotion. He was just in time to see a stocky African-American leaping into the center of the aisle brandishing a machine pistol.

Jack’s reaction was pure reflex. He threw himself into the condom display. As his body made contact with the shelving an entire unit tipped over with a clatter. Jack found himself in the center of aisle eight on top of a mountain of disarranged merchandise and collapsed shelves.