Island of the Sequined Love Nun

shouldn't have started giving her things."
    "I didn't give her things," Favo said.
    "You gave her things for"-and here Malink paused, trying to catch himself before losing a friend-"for doing favors for you."

35 – Free Press, My Ass
    Jefferson Pardee sat on a metal office chair in the `, corner of a windowless cinder-block room. The guard stood by the metal door, his machine gun trained on Pardee's hairy chest. The reporter was trying to affect an attitude of innocence tempered with a little righteous indignation, but, in fact, he was terrified. He could feel his heartbeat climbing into his throat and sweat rolled down his back in icy streams. He'd given up on trying to talk to the guards; they either didn't speak English or were pretending they didn't.
    He heard the throw of the heavy bolt on the door and expected the other guard to return, but instead a woman wearing surgical garb entered the room. Her eyes were the same color as the surgical blues and even in the oppressive heat she looked chilly.
    "At last," Pardee said. "There's been some kind of mistake here." He offered his hand, trying not to show how unsteady he was, and the guard threatened him with the Uzi. "I'm Jefferson Pardee from the Truk Star."
    She nodded to the guard and he left the room. Her voice was friendly, but she wasn't smiling.
    "I'm Beth Curtis. My husband runs the mission clinic on this island." She didn't offer her hand. "I'm sorry you've been treated this way, Mr. Pardee, but this island is under quarantine. We've tried to limit the contact with the outside until we have a better handle on this epidemic."
    "What epidemic? I haven't heard anything about this."
    "Encephalitis. It's a rare strain, airborne and very contagious. We don't let anyone off island who's been exposed."
    Jefferson Pardee exhaled a deep sigh of relief. So this was the big story. Of course he'd promise not to say a word, but Time magazine would kill for this. He'd leave out the part about being taken prisoner in his flying piggy boxers. "And the guards?"
    "World Health Organization. They've also given us an aircraft and lab equipment, as I'm sure you've seen."
    He'd seen an awful lot of lab equipment as he was led through the little hospital, but the aircraft was still a rumor. He decided to go for the facts. "You have a new Learjet, is that correct?"
    "Yes." She seemed genuinely taken aback by his comment. "How did you know?"
    "I have my sources," Pardee said, wishing he wore glasses so he could take them off in a meaningful way.
    "I'm sure you do. Information is like a virus sometimes, and the only way to find a cure is to trace it to the source. Who told you about the jet?"
    Pardee wasn't giving anything for free. "How long have you known about the encephalitis?"
    For the first time Pardee noticed that Beth Curtis had been holding her right hand behind her back the entire time they had been talking. He noticed because when the hand appeared, it was holding a syringe. "Mr. Pardee, this syringe contains a vaccine that my husband and I have developed with the help of the World Health Organization. Because you took it on yourself to sneak onto Alualu, you have exposed yourself to a deadly virus that attacks the nervous system. The vaccine seems to work even after exposure to the disease, but only if administered in the first few hours. I want to give you this vaccine, I really do. But if you insist on drawing out this little game of liar's poker, then I can't guarantee that you won't contract the disease and die a horrible and painful death. So, that said, who told you about the jet?"
    Pardee felt the sweat rising again. She hadn't raised her voice, there wasn't even a detectable note of anger there, but he felt as if she was holding a knife to his throat. Okay, to hell with the adventurous journalist. He could still get a byline based on what she'd already told him. "I talked to a pilot who passed through Truk a few months ago."
    "A few months ago? Not more recently?"
    "No. He said he was going to fly a jet for some missionaries on Alualu. I came out to check it out."
    "And that was all you heard? Just that we had a jet?"
    "Yes, it's pretty unusual for a missionary clinic to have money for a jet, wouldn't you say?"
    She smiled. "I guess it is. So how did you plan to get off the island after you got your story?"
    "The Micro Spirit was going to pick me up on the other side of the island. That's it. I was just curious. It's an occupational hazard."
    "Who knows you're