Infected Page 44

“How can I help you today, Margaret? It seems you’ve got something important to discuss, important enough for the director to call me and tell me to make sure you get everything you need.” He sounded annoyed, as if her call had pulled him away from something that he thought was very important.

“Yes, Doctor Cheng. I’m actually CDC myself.”

“Really? I wonder why I’ve never heard of you. Do you work in Atlanta?”

Margaret grimaced at the question. “No, actually, CCID in Cincinnati.”

“Ah,” Cheng said. There was a lot of contempt and derision loaded in to that single syllable.

“Doctor Cheng, I need some information on your Morgellons task force,” Margaret said.

“You bothered me for that?”

“Afraid so. We’re working on a related disease.”

“Must not be much of a relation,” Cheng said. “Because there is no disease. Just a lot of crazy people who have convinced themselves they have bugs crawling under their skin.” He sounded about as compa.s.sionate as a guy opening up the gas valve at a n.a.z.i death camp.

“I’m more interested in the fibers.”

Pause. “Yes, well, there is something strange there, but it hardly merits all the attention. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t thrilled to be put in charge of this ma.s.s delusion. Fibers in your skin don’t make you crazy, although I will say that the pain suffered by some victims seems very real. A few have genuine fibers that seem to be created by their own bodies, but for most of them these ‘fibers’ turn out to be carpet fibers, clothing fibers, things like that. They convince themselves they have this infestation, they scratch themselves b.l.o.o.d.y, and these tiny fibers get stuck in the wounds. Hardly an epidemic.”

“But you’ve seen some of these ‘genuine’ cellulose fibers growing out of the skin, yes?”

“We have found a few, yes,” Cheng said.

“I’m hoping you have a database on those claiming to be infected, particularly those who actually show the fibers.”

The question seemed to anger Cheng. “Of course we have a database, Doctor Montoya. We’ve sent out bulletins to all medical professionals, asking them to report anything that fits in to the myriad symptoms of these Morgellons victims. Tell me what you’re working on. If it’s a Morgellons case, it falls under the purview of this task force. You should be reporting it to me.”

Margaret slunk into her chair and rubbed her eyes. This wasn’t going the way she’d thought it would.

“Margaret,” Otto whispered. She opened her eyes. Now he was on the other side of the desk. He pointed to her, then held his left palm down at waist level. His right hand whipped back and forth in front of his groin, like he was spanking an imaginary person bent over in front of him. Then he pointed at the phone. “Go on, girl, whip that a.s.s.”

Margaret nodded. That’s right. I’m in charge now, I’m not this guy’s b.i.t.c.h. If anything, he’s mine.

“I haven’t got all day, Montoya,” Cheng said. “What are you working on?”

“Afraid I can’t tell you, Cheng,” Margaret said. “You’re not cleared to have that information. And in this instance you’re reporting to me. You did hear about the executive order, didn’t you?”

A pause.

“Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.”

“Good. I don’t have time for this. Either stop being an insufferable p.r.i.c.k or I’ll just call the CDC director and let him know I can’t get you to cooperate.”

A longer pause. Otto had moved on from slapping the imaginary booty, and was now “riding the pony.” He looked ridiculous, a big grown man, CIA agent, in the black suit and the red tie, twirling in a circle with an expression of affected ecstasy on his face. Margaret couldn’t help but smile.

“Fine,” Cheng finally said. “What do you need?”

“What I need you to do, right now, is call up your most recent reports. And I’m looking for dates of first symptoms, as reported by the patient. So I’m not interested in people who said they’ve been suffering for ten years and just came in.”

“I understand what ‘date of first symptoms’ means,” Cheng snapped.

She heard keys clacking as he worked his computer.

“We had a case in Detroit two weeks ago,” he said. “A Gary Leeland. Visited his primary caregiver, reported the fibers growing out of his right arm. Multiple sores from scratching. Then . . . two cases in Ann Arbor, Michigan. These are less than a week old. Kiet Nguyen, art major at the University of Michigan. And Samantha Hester, who brought in her daughter, Missy, to the same physician, actually.”

Margaret scribbled notes furiously, even though she’d have Cheng email her all the files. “When? When did they call in?”

“Nguyen was seven days ago, Hester was six.”

“And have you had any contact with them?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I personally examined Missy. Girl had a tiny fiber sticking out of her right wrist. I removed it, gave her a full examination, she had no other rashes, fibers or marks of any kind.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Four days ago. Delightful little girl. I’m actually flying back there later today to examine her again.”

“No need for that, Doctor Cheng. I’ll be in Ann Arbor and I’ll examine her.”