“He’s the hospital president,” Ms. McBane said.

Jack nodded. As he walked he nostalgically reminisced that the head of the hospital used to be called an administrator and was frequently a person who’d had medical training. That was back when patient care was paramount. Now that business was king and the goal was profit, the name had changed to president.

Jack was looking forward to meeting Mr. Kelley. The hospital president was the on-site representative of AmeriCare, and giving him a headache was the equivalent of giving AmeriCare a headache.

The atmosphere at the nurses’ station was tense. Word of the plague had spread like wildfire. Everyone who worked on the floor and even some of the ambulatory patients now knew they had been potentially exposed. Charles Kelley was doing his best to reassure them. He told them there was no risk and that everything was under control.

“Yeah, sure!” Jack scoffed under his breath. Jack looked with disgust at this man who had the gall to utter such patently false platitudes. He was intimidatingly tall, a good eight inches taller than Jack’s six feet. His handsome face was tanned and his sandy-colored hair was streaked with pure, golden blond as if he’d just returned from a Caribbean vacation. From Jack’s perspective, he looked and sounded more like an unctuous car salesman than the business manager that he was.

As soon as Kelley saw Jack and the others approach, he motioned for them to follow him. Breaking off his consoling speech, he made a beeline for the safety of the utility room behind the nurses’ station.

As Jack squeezed in behind Kathy McBane, he noticed Kelley wasn’t alone. He was being shadowed by a slightly built man with a lantern jaw and thinning hair. In sharp contrast to Kelley’s sartorial splendor, this second man was dressed in a threadbare, cheap sports coat over slacks that appeared never to have been pressed.

“God, what a mess!” Kelley said angrily to no one in particular. His demeanor had metamorphosed instantly from slippery salesman to sardonic administrator. He took a paper towel and wiped his perspiring brow. “This is not what this hospital needs!” He crumpled the towel and threw it into the trash. Turning to Dr. Zimmerman and in contrast to what he’d just said out in the nurses’ station, he asked her if they were taking a risk just being on the floor.

“I sincerely doubt it,” Dr. Zimmerman said. “But we’ll have to make certain.”

Turning to Dr. Wainwright, Kelley said: “No sooner had I heard about this disaster than I learned you already knew about it. Why didn’t you inform me?”

Dr. Wainwright explained that he’d just heard the news from Jack and had not had time to call. He explained he thought it was more important to call Dr. Zimmerman to get corrective measures instituted. He then proceeded to introduce Jack.

Jack stepped forward and gave a little wave. He was unable to suppress a smile. This was the moment he knew he’d savor.

Kelley took in the chambray shirt, the knitted tie, and the black jeans. It was a far cry from his own Valentino silk suit. “Seems to me the Commissioner of Health mentioned your name when she called me,” Kelley said. “As I recall, she was impressed you’d made the diagnosis so quickly.”

“We city employees are always glad to be of service,” Jack said.

Kelley gave a short, derisive laugh.

“Perhaps you’d like to meet one of your dedicated fellow city employees,” Kelley said. “This is Dr. Clint Abelard. He’s the epidemiologist for the New York City Board of Health.”

Jack nodded to his mousy colleague, but the epidemiologist didn’t return the greeting. Jack got the sense that Jack’s presence was not wholly appreciated. Interdepartmental rivalry was a fact of bureaucratic life he was just beginning to appreciate.

Kelley cleared his throat and then spoke to Wainwright and Zimmerman. “I want this whole episode kept as low-key as possible. The less that’s in the media the better. If any reporter tries to talk with either of you, send them to me. I’ll be gearing up the PR office to do damage control.”

“Excuse me,” Jack said, unable to restrain himself from interrupting. “Corporate interests aside, I think you should concentrate on prevention. That means treating contacts and ascertaining where the plague bacteria came from. I think you have a mystery on your hands here, and until that’s solved, the media is going to have a field day no matter what damage control you attempt.”

“I wasn’t aware anyone asked your opinion,” Kelley said scornfully.

“I just felt you could use a little direction,” Jack said. “You seemed to be wandering a bit far afield.”

Kelley’s face reddened. He shook his head in disbelief. “All right,” he said, struggling to control himself. “With your clairvoyance, I suppose you already have an idea of its origin.”

“I’d guess rats,” Jack said. “I’m sure there are lots of rats around here.” Jack had been waiting to use that comment since it had had such a good effect with Calvin that morning.

“We have no rats here at the Manhattan General,” Kelley sputtered. “And if I hear that you’ve said anything like that to the media, I’ll have your head.”

“Rats are the classical reservoir for the plague,” Jack said. “I’m sure they’re around here if you know how to recognize them, I mean find them.”

Kelley turned to Clint Abelard. “Do you think rats had anything to do with this case of plague?” he demanded.

“I have yet to begin my investigation,” Dr. Abelard said. “I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess, but I find it hard to believe that rats could have been involved. We’re on the seventh floor.”

“I’d suggest you start trapping rats,” Jack said. “Start in the immediate neighborhood. The first thing to find out is if plague has infiltrated the local urban rodent population.”

“I’d like to switch the conversation away from rats,” Kelley said. “I would like to hear about what we should do for people who had direct contact with the deceased.”

“That’s my department,” Dr. Zimmerman said. “Here’s what I propose…”

While Dr. Zimmerman spoke, Clint Abelard motioned for Jack to accompany him out to the nurses’ station.

“I’m the epidemiologist,” Clint said in an angry, forced whisper.

“I’ve never disputed that fact,” Jack said. He was surprised and confused by the vehemence of Clint’s reaction.

“I’m trained to investigate the origin of diseases in the human community,” he said. “It’s my job. You, on the other hand, are a coroner…”

“Correction,” Jack said. “I’m a medical examiner with training in pathology. You, as a physician, should know that.”

“Medical examiner or coroner, I couldn’t care less what term you guys use for yourselves,” Clint said.

“Hey, but I do,” Jack said.

“The point is that your training and your responsibility involve the dead, not the origin of disease.”

“Wrong again,” Jack said. “We deal with the dead so that they speak to the living. Our goal is to prevent death.”

“I don’t know how to make it much plainer to you,” Clint said with exasperation. “You told us a man died of plague. We appreciate that, and we didn’t interfere in your work. Now it is for me to figure out how he got it.”

“I’m just trying to help,” Jack said.

“Thank you, but if I need your help I’ll ask for it,” Clint said and strode off toward room 707.

Jack watched Clint’s figure recede, when a commotion behind him attracted his attention. Kelley had emerged from the utility room and was immediately besieged by the people he’d been speaking with earlier. Jack was impressed by how quickly his plastic smile returned and with what ease he sidestepped all questions. Within seconds, he was on his way down the hall toward the elevators and the safety of the administrative offices.

Dr. Zimmerman and Dr. Wainwright stepped out of the utility room deep in conversation. When Kathy McBane appeared, she was alone. Jack intercepted her.