World without Cats (16 page)

“Aha! To the first question, I think I have another five or six days of work here. To the second, I have to unask your question.”

“Angelo, that’s silly. You can’t unask a question. What do you mean, anyway?”

“Dorothy, suppose I told you that the disease didn’t start in Camarillo at all, but entered your city from Seattle when the cat called Clyde brought it from the zoo here.”

Dorothy was silent. She stared at her phone, open-mouthed. “Yes, I’m here,” she said, finally. I … are you telling me that the disease didn’t get started at the university … that it was brought to Camarillo from Seattle?”

“Yes, my dear, that is exactly what the evidence is pointing to. However, I ask that you not tell anyone just yet. I need to wait until I’m absolutely certain. There’s no room for error here. Careers are at stake.”

“I understand. This is really important, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it definitely is … Dorothy, I … the first thing I’m going to do when I return to Camarillo is hold you in my arms.” He closed the phone, preventing her from answering.

Before he returned to the motel, Angelo stopped by the zoo and learned that a dozen specimens from the three dead animals—spleen, liver, lymph nodes, and the like—were already on their way to the airport for their flight to the CDC.

During the week, while he waited impatiently for the results of the tissue analyses from the CDC, Angelo collected scrapings and soil from the zoo, as well as samples of nasal swabs, urine, and feces from zoo personnel. He traveled all over the city, talking with cat owners and veterinarians, collecting samples everywhere he went. He didn’t obtain much information he hadn’t already learned in Camarillo, so he ended his Seattle investigation and prepared to return to California. On Friday, June 5, the day before his departure, Angelo phoned Bronkowski in Atlanta, who boomed, “Congratulations, Angelo, it looks like you’ve cracked this case.”

“Oh? What is it? I have heard nothing.”

Bronkowski said, “Here, I’ll let you talk with Carlson. He’s been supervising the lab work.”

Vince Carlson came on the line. “Hello, Angelo, good work.”

“What? What did you find?” Angelo’s heart was pounding.

“It’s not like anything we’ve seen before. It’s a retrovirus with multiple envelope genes derived from both FeLV and FIV. Nicky is rerunning the pyros just to be absolutely sure there wasn’t a screw-up. Also, there are some sequences we haven’t yet identified.
We’re running comparisons with genomic databases as we speak. We found the virus in both the Camarillo and Seattle tissue samples. However, there are quite a few mutations in the envelope sequences from sample to sample. It probably has a high mutation frequency like HIV.”

“Well, that is interesting, indeed. Anything else?”

“Uhm … oh, yes. The virus is extremely stable. We’ve dehydrated samples to a degree that would inactivate most other viruses, but this baby retains 95 percent infectivity. This may explain why the virus spreads so fast. It doesn’t lose much activity in the environment. I don’t know of any other virus so robust.”

“I see,” said Angelo quietly.

“And,” continued Carlson, “it’s unusually resistant to ultraviolet radiation, so sunlight isn’t going to knock it out quickly. We found that full sun takes thirty-three hours to kill half the virus in clinical samples.”

“Scandaloose! What have we got here?” Angelo shook his head. “Will you please send me a complete written report of the findings so far?”

“But aren’t you coming back to Atlanta now?”

“No, there is some unfinished business here, or rather in Camarillo. There are still some pieces missing from the puzzle.”

Angelo heard loud conversation in the background; Bronkowski then came on the line. “Angelo, I want you back here now,” he demanded. “Your work is done there, and we’ve just learned of a possible Lyme outbreak in New England.”

“No. I am not finished.” He kept his voice low. “There is still a question about the molecular biology lab at the California University. I don’t see where it fits in yet.”

“Let it go, Angelo, please.”

“Warren, I did not want to come here in the first place, remember? You put me on this case against my wishes. Now I am involved with this disease, and I am going to do just as thorough a job with it as with any other case. Please put Carlson back on the line.”

Angelo could visualize Bronkowski throwing up his hands. Carlson came back, and Angelo asked, “Vince, will you please send the report to my e-mail address as soon as you’re finished?”

Angelo arrived at LAX on Saturday evening. He drove straight to Dorothy’s. When he arrived, it was still quite light, and she was sitting in front of the house in a deck chair. When Angelo’s car pulled into the driveway, she rose and ran to the car. They enfolded each other, holding the embrace for a long time.

“Oof! You’re crushing me,” Dorothy cried finally.

“I’m sorry. I am so glad to see you again. I missed you very much.”

Abruptly, they pushed each other to arms’ length and gazed into each other’s eyes. Angelo realized that there was only one future for them—a future in which they would spend the rest of their lives together.

Shortly, Angelo phoned Noah. “I think maybe Dr. Barnett’s theory about the origin of the epizootic is not holding up so well,” he offered.

“Oh?” said Noah.

“I would like to come and talk with you this evening. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. Do you know where I live?”

“No,” replied Angelo, “but I am good at following directions.”

What did Kraakmo find up there,
Noah wondered. He’d been preparing a sandwich when Angelo phoned but now was too pent up to eat. He paced, and he tried to watch television but couldn’t concentrate. Angelo and Dorothy arrived around eight. Noah invited them in and offered goblets of Chardonnay.

“How nice,” Dorothy said.

“Marveloose,” Angelo added.

Finally, Noah could hold his curiosity no longer. “Dr. Kraakmo, I’m very interested in what you found in Seattle. What did you mean when you said that Dr. Barnett’s theory may not be valid?”

“Please, I think we know each other well enough to use first names, no?” Angelo then proceeded to detail the events of the last six months at the Seattle Zoo. He described some of the animals he had seen there, emphasizing, for Dorothy’s benefit, the many different species of cats.

Noah listened intently, and, when the point of the chronology became clear—the disease had originated in Seattle—Noah could only say, “My God!” over and over.

“Your God,” replied Angelo, “has nothing to do with it. The disease is caused by a virus related to FeLV and FIV, the common feline leukemia and feline AIDS viruses.”

“Then Vera was right about it being leukemia.”

“Partly, yes. She was in error only about the point of origin of the disease. She came to her theory based on circumstantial evidence. You have been the victim of a coincidence. Please understand that there are still some loose ends. We still don’t know why the disease has such a devastating effect on the cats and why there is so much bleeding. We also do not understand how it spreads so very fast.”

Noah experienced an immediate pang of anger when the conversation turned to Vera. She had sold him out. She was wrong. Noah doubted they’d ever be able to mend their torn relationship.

Angelo and Dorothy left around ten o’clock. Noah sat in silence for a long time, overwhelmed by Angelo’s revelation. He started to sob.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This is terrific news.
After a while, he realized that he’d been harboring a profound, suppressed guilt. Subconsciously, he had nursed a belief that he might have been responsible for the disease. Now it appeared that he was not.

13
 

When Angelo received the report from the CDC, he pored over it for over an hour, analyzing the data and considering their implications. In addition to the information Carlson had summarized by phone, there were over a dozen electron micrographs. These showed pictures of the virus in various feline tissue samples.

“Merda!”
The damned thing is a sphere. Aah! Carlson added a size marker. The inside seems to be about 125 nanometers across. Hmmm … typical of many retroviruses. What are these things sticking out?
He saw that each viral sphere possessed one or more huge, partially curled filaments measuring about eighty nanometers in diameter and up to a micron in length
.
Some had as many as six such appendages, each of which appeared to Angelo like a tiny question mark attached to the sphere by its straight section. Angelo realized he’d never seen a virus like this, although the filaments remind him of Ebola virus.

This resemblance had not escaped notice at the CDC. Carlson had compared the RNA base sequence of the feline disease with that of Ebola. Sure enough, the sequences that were not yet identified when Angelo had spoken with Carlson by phone were now determined to be Ebola genes. Several of them coded for a structural protein. Other genes determined the glycoprotein responsible for much of the pathology associated with Ebola.
Scandaloose! This is one scary virus.
This explains the hemorrhaging in the infected cats.

The technicians had separated a sample of the Ebola-like filaments from the rest of the virus and, using a BSL-4 animal lab, attempted to infect three cats and two chimpanzees with the preparation. Four days after the exposure, the five animals were still free of disease.
So the Ebola part by itself is not infectious; African chimpanzees often survive Ebola. It must be that either chimps or other apes at the Seattle Zoo were captured some time after they recovered from Ebola. Those apes could be carrying Ebola virus without showing symptoms of the disease.

Angelo promptly telephoned Geraldine Moore at the Seattle Zoo. After he’d described the highlights of Carlson’s report to her, Moore said, “That’s incredible! You mean the disease is caused by a new virus that has pieces of three other viruses?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” replied Angelo. “I think the most likely source of the Ebola part is some kind of ape, probably a chimpanzee. I think it would be prudent if the zoo quarantined all the apes until they can be checked for Ebola.”

“But we quarantine all new animals for two months before we let them mingle with the others. If any ape carried Ebola, it would have shown up during the initial quarantine.”

Angelo countered, “Not necessarily. Some animals survive Ebola infection and become carriers.”

“I see. I’ll notify the director immediately. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Angelo took time out around four in the afternoon to enjoy Dorothy’s virtuosity on the harpsichord, and then he returned to the report until dinnertime. Later that evening, he phoned Vera. “I congratulate you, Dr. Barnett. Your theory of leukemia was partly correct. The epizootic is caused by a virus similar to FeLV, but it also carries FIV genes. It has surface envelope proteins of both viruses. And, as you know, it is much more virulent than normal FeLV or FIV. It appears also to contain portions of the Ebola virus. I must tell you, however, that your hypothesis that the disease started in Dr. Chamberlin’s laboratory is no longer tenable. In fact, it looks like the epizootic started in a zoo in Seattle.”

“Seattle? Ebola?” she mumbled. “Uh, thank you, Dr. Kraakmo. Thank you for calling.”

“Wait, please. Do not hang up yet. I would like to meet with you and Dr. Chamberlin during the week if you have the time.”

“Have the time?” Vera laughed sarcastically. “My practice has dropped off about a third since the cats died. Of course I have the time, but I’m not sure that Dr. Chamberlin will want to see me. Apparently, I’ve done him a terrible injustice.”

“I will fix it. I’ll let you know later when the meeting will be.”

Vera poured a double scotch and threw herself down on the couch. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, sipping the amber liquid. She couldn’t concentrate on a single train of thought.
How could a feline virus have incorporated Ebola genes? What could she do to make up to Noah? Could the Ebola jump to humans?
She had to apologize to Noah, but nothing she could say or do could possibly make up for the damage she had caused to his career and his psyche. She went over to her desk and started to write him a note. The words wouldn’t come. She tried several times, each time hitting the delete button. She poured another double scotch, though she normally drank in moderation. Back on the couch, just before she passed out, her roving consciousness focused on the fragment: “Now is the winter of our discontent …”

In the morning, her head spinning, she wrote those words on a floral e-mail template followed by: