The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

take you down to get your paperwork done. Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No, it was pretty straightforward,” I replied. In fact, I’d had a frustrating morning. After a brief phone conversation with Ray, who was still dealing with his sudden assignment to Fort Myer, I’d taken the elevator down to the garage, where my car had been parked since being shipped from Texas. And it wouldn’t start. No idea what was wrong, but the engine refused to turn over.

Luckily, I’d been compulsively early anyway, and it was a simple matter to make arrangements with the concierge to have the car towed to the dealership, then walk to the Bethesda Metro and catch a train to the NIH campus, then follow the signs. I’d arrived here with fifteen minutes to spare.

“Well, come on then, I’d like to introduce you to the team.”

I followed Doctor Moore to the elevators. I was new here, and with any new situation I’m hyperaware of my surroundings, or nuances in people’s expressions and tone. And I couldn’t help but be aware that Doctor Moore, who wore a wedding ring, kept glancing in my direction, his eyes scanning my body in an unmistakable way. It was creepy, and as we stepped on the elevator, I said, “Can you tell me about yourself, Richard? Married? Kids?”

His eyes swiveled back to the door of the elevator as it closed, and he said, “Yes. My wife is also with NIH, and we’ve got two teenagers.”

“Oh, how nice,” I replied.

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. Teenagers can be a handful.”

“Do they go to school in Bethesda?”

“Yes, at BCC.”

“Oh! I was there for my first two years of high school.”

“Really? I didn’t realize you were from the area.”

I shook my head. “I’m not, I’m from a Foreign Service family. My Dad was assigned at Main State for three years, so I went to school here.”

“And Columbia and Rice. You came with very strong recommendations. Professor Ayers spoke extremely highly of your work.”

The door to the elevator opened, and we stepped off.

“Our offices are all on the seventh floor here.”

We walked down the hall, and he showed me the break room and the labs, then my own office. It was small, but had a window, which was a step up from the tiny office I’d shared at Rice.

“You’ll have three graduate assistants, but they don’t start for another week. They’ll be down the hall in the cube farm.” He looked at his watch and said, “Aggh, we’re late. Let me show you the conference room, the team is meeting this morning. This is only once a week, but it can be an ordeal.”

“Oh?”

He gave a weak smile. “Sometimes the knives come out at our meetings. I’d like to tell you we’re all one big happy family. But I’m sure you understand. Academic jealousy. Infighting. I’m sure you’ve experienced it elsewhere.”

I grimaced. “I’m afraid so. Is that common here?”

He grunted, nodding. “Yes. Be prepared ... you’re a bit young and inexperienced for a fellowship of this nature. That won’t sit well with some.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to prove myself,” I said.

“Well, if your thesis work is any indication, that’s won’t be a problem. I understand you’re the primary author on a couple of upcoming papers?”

“Yes ... both of them in The Journal of Infectious Diseases.”

“That’s truly quite an accomplishment at this stage of your career.”

We came to a stop in front of an open conference room. Through the glass wall, I could see half a dozen men and women sitting around a large table in various stages or relaxation. It could have been an academic or business gathering anywhere in the world, though the dress was decidedly more formal than what I was used to at Rice, where jeans were the typical uniform. I was glad I’d followed my instincts and worn a conservative grey suit that morning, with a light blue top. Perhaps it was the proximity to Washington, DC, and the fact that this was, in fact, a government institution. The men all wore suits and ties, though one of them, a balding, red faced man at the back corner of the table, had his tie pulled down a few inches.

 Doctor Moore led me into the room.

“Team,” he said, “I’d like to introduce Doctor Carrie Thompson, who comes to us by way of the Rice University Ecology Department. For those of you who don’t bother to read your email…”

“That would be all of us,” the balding man interrupted.

Moore grimaced and resumed, awkwardly, “Again ... for those of you who don’t read your email, Doctor Thompson is a behavioral ecologist, and the scientist who identified the vector for community acquired MRSA showing up in Midwest cattle. Her papers on that research are going to be published in the Journal of Infectious Diseases next month.”

Closest to me, on the left side of the table, was a woman a few years older than me, perhaps in her mid-to-late thirties. Brunette, pale, with frown marks on both sides of her mouth. She looked at me with a droll expression and said, “Imagine that. A behavioral ecologist?” Her voice had just a tinge of contempt to it.

I didn’t know quite how to take it. So, I followed my normal pattern, and simply pretended it hadn’t happened. I reached out a hand and said, “Call me Carrie.”

She was startled into taking it. “I’m Lori Beckley. Microbiologist.”

I recognized her name, and I wanted to eliminate her hostility and turn her into an ally as quickly as possible, so I said, “Not the Doctor Beckley who did the work on the New York City MRSA mutations?”

Her eyes widened. “I am. Though I wasn’t lead author on those papers, I’m surprised you recognize my name.”

“Actually,” I said, “The genome mapping you did was essential for our papers.”

She smiled. “Perhaps I’m going to like you after all, Carrie. Call me Lori, and have a seat.”

She pulled out the chair between her and the balding man. He looked