“Dr. Graham,” he saw two uniformed officers standing in his doorway. “We’re with the FBI,” the two men flashed their badges. “We need to ask you some questions.”
Jonathon rolled his eyes. “I’ve already talked to your people—don’t you guys communicate?”
The two men squinted at him before taking a step towards him. “Dr. Graham, the FBI has only just been put on the case. We suspect this outbreak has been a bioterrorist threat.”
Jonathon sighed, exasperated. “I’ve already told you people, there’s no way this is bioterrorism—there’s no medical explanation for what’s been going on.”
“We need you to come with us.”
“What?” Jonathon scoffed. “No.”
They glanced at each other and nodded.
“I just got here! I haven’t slept in nearly two days, my wife is missing—I can’t go.”
They grabbed his shoulders. “Dr. Graham, you don’t have a choice.”
“Can I help you?”
“I need you to come with me,” the man said.
Jonathon laughed at his request. “I just got here and—and take off those stupid glasses,” he laughed a little more.
The man did not flinch, did not crack a smile. “How long will you need to pack?”
“Wait,” Jonathon put his hands up, “I don’t even know where the fuck I am, and you want me to leave?”
He remained quiet.
Jonathon rolled his eyes. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Nothing,” she shook her head. “We think your wife is in danger.”
“What…what kind of danger?” Jonathon looked around the room again.
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