Contagion

31

The first symptom Jack noticed was a sudden rash that appeared on his forearms. As he was examining it, the rash spread quickly to his chest and abdomen. With his index fingers he spread the skin at the site of one of the blotches to see if it would blanch with pressure. Not only did it not blanch, the pressure deepened the color.

Then, as quickly as the skin eruption appeared, it began to itch. At first Jack tried to ignore the sensation, but it increased in intensity to the point where he had to scratch. When he did, the rash began to bleed. Each blotch was transformed into an open sore.

With the bleeding and the sores came a fever. It started to rise slowly, but once it got past a hundred degrees, it shot up. Soon Jack’s forehead was awash with perspiration.

When he looked at himself in the mirror and saw his face flushed and spotted with open sores, he was horrified. A few minutes later he began to experience difficulty breathing. Even with deep breaths he was gasping for air.

Then Jack’s head began to pound like a drum with each beat of his heart. He had no idea what he’d contracted, but its seriousness was all too obvious. Intuitively Jack knew he had only moments to make the diagnosis and determine treatment.

But there was a problem. To make the diagnosis he needed a blood sample, but he had no needle. Perhaps he could get a sample with a knife. It would be messy, but it might work. Where could he find a knife?

Jack’s eyes blinked open. For a second he frantically searched the nightstand for a knife, but then he stopped. He was disoriented. A deep clang sounded again and again. Jack could not place it. He lifted his arm to look at his rash, but it had disappeared. Only then did Jack realize where he was and that he’d been dreaming.

Jack estimated the temperature in the hotel room to be ninety degrees. With disgust he kicked off the blankets. He was drenched in sweat. Sitting up, he put his legs over the side of the bed. The clanging noise was coming from the radiator, which was also steaming and sputtering. It sounded like someone was striking the riser with a sledgehammer.

Jack went to the window and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. It was as if it had been nailed shut. Giving up, he went to the radiator. It was so hot he couldn’t touch the valve. He got a towel from the bathroom, but then found the valve was stuck in the open position.

In the bathroom Jack was able to open a frosted window. A refreshing breeze blew in. For a few minutes he didn’t move. The cool tiles felt good on his feet. He leaned on the sink and recoiled at the remembrance of his nightmare. It had been so frighteningly real. He even looked at his arms and abdomen again to make sure he didn’t have a rash. Thankfully, he didn’t. But he still had a headache, which he assumed was from being overheated. He wondered why he hadn’t awakened sooner.

Looking into the mirror, he noticed that his eyes were red. He was also in dire need of a shave. He hoped that there was a sundry shop in the lobby, because he had no toilet articles with him.

Jack returned to the bedroom. The radiator was now silent and the room temperature had dropped to a tolerable level, with cool air flowing in from the bathroom.

Jack began to dress so he could go downstairs. As he did so he recalled the events of the previous evening. The image of the gun barrel came back to his mind’s eye with terrifying clarity. He shuddered. Another fraction of a second and he would have been gone.

Three times in twenty-four hours Jack had come close to death. Each episode made him realize how much he wanted to live. For the first time he began to wonder if his response to his grief for his wife and daughters-his reckless behavior-might be a disservice to their memory.

Down in the seedy lobby Jack was able to purchase a disposable razor and a miniature tube of toothpaste with a toothbrush attached. As he waited for the elevator to return to his room he caught sight of a bound stack of the Daily News outside of an unopened newsstand. Above the lurid headlines was: “Morgue Doc Nearly Winds Up on the Slab in Trendy Restaurant Shoot-out! See page three.”

Jack set down his purchases and tried to tease out a copy of the paper, but he couldn’t. The securing band was too tough to snap.

Returning to the front desk, he managed to convince the morose night receptionist to come out from behind his desk and cut the band with a razor blade. Jack paid for the paper and saw the receptionist pocket the money.

On the way up in the elevator Jack was shocked to see a picture of himself on page three coming out of the Positano restaurant with Shawn Magoginal holding his upper arm. Jack couldn’t remember a picture being taken. The caption read: “Dr. Jack Stapleton, a NYC medical examiner, being led by plainclothes detective Shawn Magoginal from the scene of the doctor’s attempted assassination. A NYC gang member was killed in the incident.”

Jack read the article. It wasn’t long; he was finished before he got back to his room. Somehow the writer had learned that Jack had had run-ins with the same gang in the past. There was an unmistakably scandalous implication. He tossed the paper aside. He was disgusted at the unexpected exposure and was concerned it could hinder his cause. He expected to have a busy day, and he didn’t want interference resulting from this unwanted notoriety.

Jack showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He felt a world of difference from when he’d awakened, but he did not feel up to par. He still had a headache and the muscles of his legs were sore. So was his lower back. He couldn’t help but worry that he was having early symptoms of the flu. He didn’t have to remind himself to take his rimantadine.

When Jack arrived at the medical examiner’s office, he had the taxi drop him off at the morgue receiving bay to avoid any members of the press who might be lying in wait.

Jack headed directly upstairs to scheduling. He was worried about what had come in during the night. As he stepped into the room, Vinnie lowered his newspaper.

“Hey, Doc,” Vinnie said. “Guess what? You’re in the morning paper.”

Jack ignored him and went over to where George was working.

“Aren’t you interested?” Vinnie called out. “There’s even a picture!”

“I’ve seen it,” Jack said. “It’s not my best side.”

“Tell me what happened,” Vinnie demanded. “Heck, this is like a movie or something. Why’d this guy want to shoot you?”

“It was a case of mistaken identity,” Jack said.

“Aw, no!” Vinnie said. He was disappointed. “You mean he thought you were someone else?”

“Something like that,” Jack said. Then, addressing George, he asked if there had been any more influenza deaths.

“Did someone actually fire a gun at you?” George asked, ignoring Jack’s question. He was as interested as Vinnie. Other people’s disasters hold universal appeal.

“Forty or fifty times,” Jack said. “But luckily it was one of those guns that shoots Ping-Pong balls. Those I wasn’t able to duck bounced off harmlessly.”

“I guess you don’t want to talk about it,” George said.

“That’s perceptive of you, George,” Jack said. “Now, have any influenza deaths come in?”

“Four,” George said.

Jack’s pulse quickened.

“Where are they?” Jack asked.

George tapped one of his stacks. “I’d assign a couple of them to you, but Calvin already called to tell me he wants you to have another paper day. I think he saw the newspaper too. In fact, he didn’t even know if you’d be coming in to work today.”

Jack didn’t respond. With as much as he had to do that day, having another paper day was probably a godsend. Jack opened the charts quickly to read the names. Although he could have guessed their identities, it was still a shock. Kim Spensor, George Haselton, Gloria Hernandez, and a William Pearson, the evening lab tech, had all passed away during the night with acute respiratory distress syndrome. The worry that the influenza strain was virulent was no longer a question; it was now a fact. These victims had all been healthy, young adults who’d died within twenty-four-plus hours of exposure.

All of Jack’s anxiety came back in a rush. His fear of a major epidemic soared. His only hope was that if he was right about the humidifier being the source, all of these cases represented index cases in that all had been exposed to the infected humidifier. Hence, none of these deaths represented person-to-person transfer, the key element for the kind of epidemic he feared.

Jack rushed from the room, ignoring more questions from Vinnie. Jack didn’t know what he should do first. From what had happened with the plague episode, he thought he should wait to talk to Bingham and have Bingham call the city and state authorities. Yet now that Jack’s worry about a potential epidemic had increased, he hated to let any time pass.

“Dr. Stapleton, you’ve had a lot of calls,” Marjorie Zankowski said. Marjorie was the night communications operator. “Some left messages on your voice mail, but here’s a list. I was going to take them up to your office, but since you are here…” She pushed a stack of pink phone messages toward Jack. Jack snatched them up and continued on.

He scanned the list as he went up in the elevator. Terese had called several times, the last time being four o’clock in the morning. The fact that she’d called so many times gave Jack a stab of guilt. He should have called her from the hotel, but in truth he hadn’t felt like talking with anyone.

To his surprise there were also messages from Clint Abelard and Mary Zimmerman. His first thought was that Kathy McBane might have told them everything he’d said. If she had, then Clint’s and Mary’s messages might be of the unpleasant sort. They had called one after the other just after six A.M.

Most intriguing and worrisome of all the calls were two from Nicole Marquette from the CDC. One was around midnight, the other at five forty-five.

Rushing into his office, Jack stripped off his coat, plopped himself at his desk, and returned Nicole’s call. When he got her on the line, she sounded exhausted.

“It’s been a long night,” she admitted. “I tried to call you many times both at work and at home.”

“I apologize,” Jack said. “I should have called to give you an alternate number.”

“One of the times I called your apartment the phone was answered by an individual called Warren,” Nicole said. “I hope he’s an acquaintance. He didn’t sound all that friendly.”

“He’s a friend,” Jack said, but the news disturbed him. Facing Warren was not going to be easy.

“Well, I don’t know quite where to begin,” Nicole said. “One thing I can assure you is that you’ve caused a lot of people to lose a night’s sleep. The sample of influenza you sent has ignited a fire down here. We ran it against our battery of antisera to all known reference strains. It didn’t react with any one of them to any significant degree. In other words, it had to be a strain that was either entirely new or had not been seen for as many years as we’ve been keeping antisera.”

“That’s not good news, is it?” Jack said.

“Hardly,” Nicole said. “It was very scary news, particularly in light of the strain’s pathogenicity. We understand there now have been five deaths.”

“How did you know?” Jack asked. “I just found out myself there’d been four more victims last night.”

“We’ve already been in contact with the state and local authorities during the night,” Nicole said. “That was one of the reasons I tried so hard to get ahold of you. We consider this to be an epidemiological emergency; I didn’t want you to feel you were out of the loop. You see, we did finally find something that reacted with the virus. It was a sample of frozen sera we have that we suspect contains antisera to the influenza strain that caused the great epidemic in 1918 and 1919!”

“Good God!” Jack exclaimed.

“As soon as I discovered this, I called my immediate boss, Dr. Hirose Nakano,” Nicole said. “He, in turn, called the director of the CDC. He’s been on the phone with everyone from the Surgeon General on down. We’re mobilizing to fight a war here. We need a vaccine, and we need it fast. This is the swine-flu scare of seventy-six all over again.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Jack asked even though he already knew the answer.

“Not at this time,” Nicole said. “We owe you a debt of gratitude for alerting us to the problem as soon as you did. I told as much to the director. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave you a call himself.”

“So the hospital has been notified?” Jack asked.

“Most definitely,” Nicole said. “A CDC team will be coming up there today to assist in any way it can, including helping the local epidemiologist. Needless to say, we’d love to find out where this virus came from. One of the mysteries of influenza is where the dormant reservoirs are. Birds, particularly ducks, and pigs are suspected, but no one knows for sure. It’s astonishing, to say the least, that a strain that hasn’t been seen for some seventy-five years comes back to haunt us.”

A few minutes later, Jack hung up the phone. He was stunned, yet also relieved to a degree. At least his warnings of a possible epidemic had been heeded, and the proper authorities mobilized. If an epidemic was to be averted, the only people who could make that happen were now involved.

But there was still the question of where these infectious agents had come from. Jack certainly did not think it was a natural source like another animal or a bird for the influenza. He thought it was either a person or an organization, and now he could concentrate on that issue.

Before Jack did anything else, he called Terese. He found her at home. She was extremely relieved to hear his voice.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I stayed the night in a hotel,” Jack said.

“Why didn’t you call like you said you would?” Terese asked. “I’ve called your apartment a dozen times.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I should have called. But by the time I left the police headquarters and found a hotel, I wasn’t feeling much like talking to anyone. I can’t tell you how stressful the last twenty-four hours have been. I’m afraid I’m not myself.”

“I suppose I understand,” Terese said. “After that horrid incident last night I’m amazed you are functioning at all today. Didn’t you consider just staying home? I think that’s what I would have done.”

“I’m too caught up in everything that is happening,” Jack said.

“That’s just what I was afraid of,” Terese said. “Jack, listen to me. You’ve been beat up and now almost killed. Isn’t it time to let other people take over, and you get back to your normal job?”

“It’s already happening to an extent,” Jack said. “Officials from the Centers for Disease Control are on their way up here in force to contain this influenza outbreak. All I have to do is make it through today.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Terese asked.

“If I don’t solve this mystery of mine by tonight I’m giving up on it,” Jack said. “I had to promise as much to the police.”

“That’s music to my ears,” Terese said. “When can I see you? I have some exciting news to tell.”

“After last night I would have thought you’d consider me dangerous to be around,” Jack said.

“I’m assuming that once you stop this crusade of yours people will leave you alone.”

“I’ll have to call you,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how the day is going to play out.”

“You’d promised to call last night and didn’t,” Terese said. “How can I trust you?”

“You’ll just have to give me another chance,” Jack said. “And now I have to get to work.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my exciting news?” Terese asked.

“I thought you’d tell me if you wanted to,” Jack said.

“National Health canceled the internal review,” Terese said.

“Is that good?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Terese said. “The reason they canceled it is because they are so sure they’ll like our ‘no waiting’ campaign that I leaked yesterday. So instead of having to throw the presentation together haphazardly we have a month to do it properly.”

“That’s wonderful,” Jack said. “I’m pleased for you.”

“And that’s not all,” Terese said. “Taylor Heath called me in to congratulate me. He also told me he’d learned what Robert Barker had tried to do, so Barker is out and I’m in. Taylor all but assured me I’ll be the next president of Willow and Heath.”

“That calls for a celebration,” Jack said.

“Exactly,” Terese said. “A good way to do it would be to have lunch today at the Four Seasons.”

“You certainly are persistent,” Jack said.

“As a career woman I have to be,” Terese said.

“I can’t have lunch, but maybe dinner,” Jack said. “That is, unless I’m in jail.”

“Now what does that mean?” Terese asked.

“It would take too long to explain,” Jack said. “I’ll call you later. Bye, Terese.” Jack hung up before Terese could get in another word. As tenacious as she was, Jack had the feeling she’d keep him on the phone until she got her way.

Jack was about to head up to the DNA lab when Laurie appeared in his doorway.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” Laurie said.

“And I have you to thank for my being here,” Jack said. “A few days ago I might have thought of you as having interfered. But not now. I appreciate whatever you said to Lieutenant Soldano, because it saved my life.”

“He called me last night and told me what happened,” Laurie said. “I tried to call you at your apartment a number of times.”

“You and everyone else,” Jack said. “To tell you the truth, I was scared to go home.”

“Lou also told me he thought you were taking a lot of risks with these gangs involved,” Laurie said. “Personally, I think you should call off whatever you are doing.”

“Well, you are siding with the majority if it is any consolation,” Jack said. “And I’m sure my mother would agree if you were to call her in South Bend, Indiana, and ask her opinion.”

“I don’t understand how you can be flippant in light of everything that has happened,” Laurie said. “Besides, Lou wanted me to make sure you understand that he can’t protect you with twenty-four-hour security. He doesn’t have the manpower. You’re on your own.”

“At least I’ll be working with someone I’ve spent a lot of time with,” Jack said.

“You are impossible!” Laurie said. “When you don’t want to talk about something you hide behind your clever repartee. I think you should tell everything to Lou. Tell him about your terrorist idea and turn it over to him. Let him investigate it. He’s good at it. It’s his job.”

“That might be,” Jack said. “But this is a unique circumstance in a lot of ways. I think it requires knowledge that Lou doesn’t have. Besides, I sense it might do a world of good for my self-confidence to follow this thing through. Whether it’s obvious or not, my ego has taken a beating over the last five years.”

“You are a mystery man,” Laurie said. “Also stubborn, and I don’t know enough about you to know when you are joking and when you are serious. Just promise to be more careful than you’ve been the last few days.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jack said. “I’ll promise if you agree to take rimantadine.”

“I did notice there were more influenza deaths downstairs,” Laurie said. “You think it warrants rimantadine?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “The CDC is taking this outbreak very seriously, and you should as well. In fact, they think it might be the same strain that caused the disastrous influenza outbreak in 1918. I’ve started rimantadine myself.”

“How could it be the same strain?” Laurie asked. “That strain doesn’t exist.”

“Influenza has a way of hiding out,” Jack said. “It’s one of the things that has the CDC so interested.”

“Well, if that were the case, it sure shoots holes in your terrorist theory,” Laurie said. “There’s no way for someone to deliberately spread something that doesn’t exist outside of some unknown natural reservoir.”

Jack stared at Laurie for a minute. She was right, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it.

“I don’t mean to rain on your parade,” Laurie said.

“That’s okay,” Jack said, preoccupied. He was busy wondering if the influenza episode could be a natural phenomenon, while the other outbreaks were intentional. The problem with that line of thinking was that it violated a cardinal rule in medical diagnostics: single explanations are sought even for seemingly disparate events.

“Nevertheless, the influenza threat is obviously real,” Laurie said. “So I’ll take the drug, but to make sure you hold up your side of the bargain, I want you to keep in touch with me. I noticed that Calvin took you off autopsy, so if you leave the office you have to call me at regular intervals.”

“Maybe you’ve been talking to my mother after all,” Jack said. “Sounds remarkably like the orders she gave me during my first week at college.”

“Take it or leave it,” Laurie said.

“I’ll take it,” Jack said.

After Laurie left, Jack headed to the DNA lab to seek out Ted Lynch. Jack was glad to get out of his office. Despite the good intentions involved he was tiring of people giving him advice and he was afraid Chet would soon be arriving. Undoubtedly he’d voice the same concerns just expressed by Laurie.

As Jack mounted the stairs he thought more about Laurie’s point concerning the influenza’s source. He couldn’t believe he’d not thought of it himself, and it undermined his confidence. It also underlined how much he was depending on a positive result with the probe National Biologicals had sent. If they were all negative he’d have scant hope of proving his theory. All he’d have left would be the improbable cultures he’d hoped Kathy McBane had obtained from the sink trap in central supply.

The moment Ted Lynch caught sight of Jack approaching, he pretended to hide behind his lab bench.

“Shucks, you found me,” Ted joked when Jack came around the end of the counter. “I was hoping not to see you until the afternoon.”

“It’s your unlucky day,” Jack said. “I’m not even on autopsy, so I’ve decided to camp out here in your lab. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to run my probes…”

“Actually, I stayed late last night and even came in early to prepare the nucleoproteins. I’m ready to run the probes now. If you give me an hour or so, I should have some results.”

“Did you get all four cultures?” Jack asked.

“Sure did,” Ted said. “Agnes was on the ball as usual.”

“I’ll be back,” Jack said.

With some time to kill, Jack went down to the morgue and changed into his moon suit before entering the autopsy room.

The morning routine was well under way. Six of the eight tables were in various stages of the autopsy procedure. Jack walked down the row until he recognized one of the cases. It was Gloria Hernandez. For a moment he looked at her pale face and tried to comprehend the reality of death. Having just spoken with her in her apartment the day before, it seemed an inconceivable transition.

The autopsy was being done by Riva Mehta, Laurie’s officemate. She was a petite woman of Indian extraction who had to stand on a stool to do the procedure. At that moment she was just entering the chest.

Jack stayed and watched. When the lungs were removed he asked to see the cut surface. It was identical to Kevin Carpenter’s from the day before, complete with pinpoint hemorrhages. There was no doubt it was a primary influenza pneumonia.

Moving on, Jack found Chet, who was busy with the nurse, George Haselton. Jack was surprised; it was Chet’s usual modus operandi to stop into the office before doing his day’s autopsies. When Chet saw it was Jack, he seemed annoyed.

“How come you didn’t answer your phone last night?” Chet demanded.

“It was too long a reach,” Jack said. “I wasn’t there.”

“Colleen called to tell me what happened,” Chet said. “I think this whole thing has gone far enough.”

“Chet, instead of talking, how about showing me the lung,” Jack said.

Chet showed Jack the lung. It was identical to Gloria Hernandez’s and Kevin Carpenter’s. When Chet started to talk again, Jack merely moved on.

Jack stayed in the autopsy room until he’d seen the gross on all the influenza cases. There were no surprises. Everyone was impressed by the pathogenicity of the virus.

Changing back into his street clothes, Jack went directly up to the DNA lab. This time Ted acted glad to see him.

“I’m not sure what you wanted me to find,” Ted said. “But you are batting five hundred. Two of the four were positive.”

“Just two?” Jack asked. He’d prepared himself for either all positive or all negative. Like everything else associated with these outbreaks, he was surprised.

“If you want I can go back and fudge the results,” Ted joked. “How many do you want to be positive?”

“I thought I was the jokester around here,” Jack said.

“Do these results screw up some theory of yours?” Ted asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jack said. “Which two were positive?”

“The plague and the tularemia,” Ted said.

Jack walked back to his office while he pondered this new information. By the time he was sitting down he’d decided that it didn’t make any difference how many of the cultures were positive. That fact that any of them were positive supported his theory. Unless an individual was a laboratory worker it would be hard to come in contact with an artificially propagated culture of a bacteria.

Pulling his phone over closer to himself, Jack put in a call to National Biologicals. He asked to speak with Igor Krasnyansky, since the man had already been accommodating enough to send the probes.

Jack reintroduced himself.

“I remember you,” Igor said. “Did you have any luck with the probes?”

“I did,” Jack said. “Thank you again for sending them. But now I have a few more questions.”

“I’ll try to answer them,” Igor said.

“Does National Biologicals also sell influenza cultures?” Jack asked.

“Indeed,” Igor said. “Viruses are a big part of our business, including influenza. We have many strains, particularly type A.”

“Do you have the strain that caused the epidemic in 1918?” Jack asked. He just wanted to be one hundred percent certain.

“We wish!” Igor said with a laugh. “I’m sure that strain would be popular with researchers. No, we don’t have it, but we have some that are probably similar, like the strain of the ’76 swine-flu scare. It’s generally believed that the 1918 strain was a permutation of H1N1, but exactly what, no one knows.”

“My next question concerns plague and tularemia,” Jack said.

“We carry both,” Igor said.

“I’m aware of that,” Jack said. “What I would like to know is who has ordered either of those two cultures in the last few months.”

“I’m afraid we don’t usually give that information out,” Igor said.

“I can understand that,” Jack said. For a moment Jack feared he would have to get Lou Soldano involved just to get the information he wanted. But then he thought he could possibly talk Igor into giving it to him. After all, Igor had been careful to say that such information wasn’t “usually” given out.

“Perhaps you’d like to talk to our president,” Igor suggested.

“Let me tell you why I want to know,” Jack said. “As a medical examiner I’ve seen a couple of deaths recently with these pathogens. We’d just like to know which labs we should warn. Our interest is preventing any more accidents.”

“And the deaths were due to our cultures?” Igor asked.

“That was why I wanted the probes,” Jack said. “We suspected as much but needed proof.”

“Hmm,” Igor said. “I don’t know if that should make me feel more or less inclined to give out information.”

“It’s just an issue of safety,” Jack said.

“Well, that sounds reasonable,” Igor said. “It’s not as if it’s a secret. We share our customer lists with several equipment manufacturers. Let me see what I can find here at my workstation.”

“To make it easier for you, narrow the field to labs in the New York metropolitan area,” Jack said.

“Fair enough,” Igor said. Jack could hear the man typing on his keyboard. “We’ll try tularemia first. Here we go.”

There was a pause.

“Okay,” Igor said. “We have sent tularemia to the National Health hospital and to the Manhattan General Hospital. That’s it; at least for the last couple of months.”

Jack sat more upright, especially knowing that National Health was the major competitor of AmeriCare. “Can you tell me when these cultures went out?”

“I think so,” Igor said. Jack could hear more typing. “Okay, here we are. The National Health shipment went out on the twenty-second of this month, and the Manhattan General shipment went out on the fifteenth.”

Jack’s enthusiasm waned slightly. By the twenty-second he’d already made the diagnosis of tularemia in Susanne Hard. That eliminated National Health for the time being. “Does it show who the receiver was on the Manhattan General shipment?” Jack asked. “Or was it just the lab itself?”

“Hold on,” Igor said as he switched screens again. “It says that the consignee was a Dr. Martin Cheveau.”

Jack’s pulse quickened. He was uncovering information that very few people would know could be discoverable. He doubted that even Martin Cheveau was aware that National Biologicals phage-typed their cultures.

“What about plague?” Jack asked.

“Just a moment,” Igor said while he made the proper entries.

There was another pause. Jack could hear Igor’s breathing.

“Okay, here it is,” Igor said. “Plague’s not a common item ordered on the East Coast outside of academic or reference labs. But there was one shipment that went out on the eighth. It went to Frazer Labs.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” Jack said. “Do you have an address?”

“Five-fifty Broome Street,” Igor said.

“How about a consignee?” Jack asked as he wrote down the address.

“Just the lab itself,” Igor said.

“Do you do much business with them?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Igor said. He made another entry. “They send us orders now and then. It must be a small diagnostic lab. But there’s one thing strange.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked.

“They always pay with a cashier’s check,” Igor said. “I’ve never seen that before. It’s okay, of course, but customers usually have established credit.”

“Is there a telephone number?” Jack asked.

“Just the address,” Igor said, which he repeated.

Jack thanked Igor for his help and hung up the phone. Taking out the phone directory, he looked up Frazer Labs. There was no listing. He tried information but had the same luck.

Jack sat back. Once again he’d gotten information he didn’t expect. He now had two sources of the offending bacteria. Since he already knew something about the lab at the Manhattan General, he thought he’d better visit Frazer Labs. If there was some way he could establish an association with the two labs or with Martin Cheveau personally, he’d turn everything over to Lou Soldano.

The first problem was the concern about being followed. The previous evening he’d thought he’d been so clever but had been humbled by Shawn Magoginal. Yet to give himself credit, he had to remember that Shawn was an expert. The Black Kings certainly weren’t. But to make up for their lack of expertise, the Black Kings were ruthless. Jack knew he’d have to lose a potential tail rapidly since they had clearly demonstrated a total lack of compunction about attacking him in public.

There was also the collateral worry about Warren and his gang. Jack didn’t know what to think about them. He had no idea of Warren’s state of mind. It was something Jack would have to face in the near future.

To lose any tail Jack wanted a crowded location with multiple entrances and exits. Immediately Grand Central Terminal and the Port Authority Bus Terminal came to mind. He decided on the former since it was closer.

Jack wished there were some underground way of getting over to the NYU Medical Center to help him get away from the office, but there wasn’t. Instead he settled on a radio-dispatched taxi service. He directed the dispatcher to have the car pick him up at the receiving bay of the morgue.

Everything seemed to work perfectly. The car came quickly. Jack slipped in from the bay. They managed to hit the light at First Avenue; at no time was Jack a sitting duck in a motionless car. Still, he hunched low in his seat, out of view, sparking the driver’s curiosity. The cabbie kept stealing looks at Jack in his rearview mirror.

As they drove up First Avenue, Jack raised himself up and watched out the back. He saw nothing suspicious. No cars suddenly pulled into the traffic. No one ran out to flag a cab.

They turned left on Forty-second Street. Jack had the driver pull up directly in front of Grand Central. The moment the car came to a stop, Jack was out and running. He dashed through the entrance and merged quickly with the crowd. To be absolutely sure he was not being followed, he descended into the subway and boarded the Forty-second Street shuttle.

When the train was about to leave and the doors had started to close, Jack impeded their closing and jumped off the train. He ran up into the station proper and exited back onto Forty-second Street through a different entrance than he used when he arrived.

Feeling confident, Jack hailed a taxi. At first he told the driver to take him to the World Trade Center. During the trip down Fifth Avenue he watched to see if any cars, taxis, or trucks could have been following. When none seemed to be doing so, Jack told the driver to take him to 550 Broome Street.

Jack finally began to relax. He sat back in the seat and put his hands to his temples. The headache he’d awakened with in the overheated hotel room had never completely gone away. He’d been ascribing the lingering throb to anxiety, but now there were new symptoms. He had a vague sore throat accompanied by mild coryza. There was still a chance it was all psychosomatic, but he was still worried.

After rounding Washington Square, the taxi driver went south on Broadway before turning east on Houston Street. At Eldridge he made a right.

Jack looked out at the scenery. He’d not had any idea where Broome Street was, although he’d assumed it was someplace downtown, south of Houston. That entire section of the city was one of the many parts of New York he had yet to explore, and there were many street names with which he was unfamiliar.

The cab made a left-hand turn off Eldridge, and Jack caught a glimpse of the street sign. It was Broome Street. Jack looked out at the buildings. They were five and six stories tall. Many were abandoned and boarded up. It seemed an improbable place to have a medical lab.

At the next corner the neighborhood improved slightly. There was a plumbing-supply store with thick metal grates covering its windows. Sprinkled down the rest of the block were other building-supply concerns. On the floors above the street-level stores were a few loft apartments. Otherwise, it seemed to be vacant commercial space.

In the middle of the following block, the cabdriver pulled to the side of the street. Five-fifty Broome Street was not Frazer Labs. It was a combination check-cashing place, mailbox rental, and pawnshop stuck between a package store and a shoe repair shop.

Jack hesitated. At first he thought he’d gotten the wrong address. But that seemed unlikely. Not only had he written it down, but Igor had mentioned it twice. Jack paid his fare and climbed from the cab.

Like all the other stores in the area, this one had an iron grille that could be pulled across its front at night and locked. In the window was a miscellaneous mixture of objects that included an electric guitar, a handful of cameras, and a display of cheap jewelry. A large sign over the door said: “Personal Mailboxes.” Painted on the door glass were the words “Checks Cashed.”

Jack stepped up to the window. By standing directly in front of the electric guitar, he could see beyond the display into the store itself. There was a glass-topped counter that ran down the right side. Behind the counter was a mustached man with a punk-rock hairstyle. He was dressed in military camouflage fatigues. In the rear of the shop was a Plexiglas-enclosed cubicle that looked like a bank teller’s window. On the left side of the store was a bank of mailboxes.

Jack was intrigued. The fact that Frazer Labs might be using this tacky shop as a mail drop was certainly suspicious if it was true. At first he was tempted to walk in and ask. But he didn’t. He was afraid by doing so he might hinder other methods of finding out. He knew that such personal mailbox establishments were loath to give out any information. Privacy was the main reason people rented the boxes in the first place.

What Jack truly wanted was not only to find out if Frazer Labs had a box there, but to entice a Frazer Labs representative to come to the shop. Slowly an elaborate plan began to form in Jack’s mind.

Being careful not to be seen by the clerk within the store, Jack quickly walked away. The first thing he needed was a telephone directory. Since the area around the pawnshop was comparatively deserted, Jack walked south to Canal Street. There he found a drugstore.

From the phone directory Jack copied down four addresses: a nearby uniform shop, a van rental agency, an office supply store, and a Federal Express office. Since the clothing shop was the closest, Jack went there first.

Once in the store Jack realized that he couldn’t remember what Federal Express courier uniforms looked like. But he wasn’t terribly concerned. If he couldn’t remember, he didn’t think the clerk in the pawnshop would know either. Jack bought a pair of blue cotton twill pants and a white shirt with flap pockets and epaulets. He also bought a plain black belt and blue tie.

“Would you mind if I put these on?” Jack asked the clerk.

“Of course not,” the clerk said. He showed Jack to a makeshift dressing room.

The pants were slightly too long, but Jack was satisfied. When he looked at himself in the mirror he thought he needed something else. He ended up adding a blue peaked cap to his outfit. After Jack paid for his purchases, the clerk was happy to wrap up Jack’s street clothes. Just before the package was sealed, Jack thought to rescue his rimantadine. With the symptoms he was feeling he didn’t want to miss a dose.

The next stop was the office-supply store, where Jack selected wrapping paper, tape, a medium-sized box, string, and a packet of “rush” labels. To Jack’s surprise he even found “biohazard” labels, so he tossed a box of them into his shopping cart. In another part of the store he found a clipboard and a pad of printed receipt forms. Once he had everything he wanted he took them to the checkout register and paid.

The next stop was the Federal Express office. From their supply stand Jack took several address labels with the clear plastic envelopes used to attach them to a parcel.

The final destination was a car rental agency, where Jack rented a cargo van. That took the most time, since Jack had to wait while someone went to another location to bring the van to the agency. Jack used the opportunity to prepare the parcel. First he put together the box. Wanting to give it the feeling of having contents, Jack eyed a triangular piece of wood on the floor near the entrance. He assumed it was a doorstop.

When no one at the rental counter was looking Jack picked up the object and slipped it into the box. He then crumpled up multiple sheets of a New York Post that he found in the waiting area. He hefted the box and gave it a shake. Satisfied, he taped it shut.

After the wrapping paper and the string were applied, Jack plastered the outside with “rush” and “biohazard” labels.

The final touch was the Federal Express label, which Jack carefully filled out, addressing it to Frazer Labs. For the return address Jack used National Biologicals’s. After throwing away the top copy, Jack inserted one of the carbons into the plastic envelope and secured it to the front of the box. He was pleased. The package appeared official indeed, and with all the “rush” labels, he hoped it would have the desired effect.

When the van arrived, Jack went out and put the package, the remains of the wrapping material, and the parcel containing his clothes in the back. Climbing behind the wheel, he drove off.

Before going back to the pawnshop Jack made two stops. He returned to the drugstore where he’d used the phone book and bought some throat lozenges for his irritated throat, which seemed to be getting worse. He also stopped at a deli for some takeout. He wasn’t hungry, but it was already afternoon, and he’d eaten nothing that day. Besides, after he delivered the package he had no idea how long he’d have to wait.

While driving back to Broome Street Jack opened one of the orange-juice containers he’d bought and used the juice to take a second dose of rimantadine. In view of his progressive symptoms he wanted to keep the drug’s concentration high in his blood.

Jack pulled up directly in front of the pawnshop, leaving the engine running and the emergency blinkers blinking. Clutching his clipboard, he got out and went around to the rear to get the package. Then he entered the store.

The door had bells secured to the top edge, and Jack’s entrance was heralded by a raucous ringing. As had been the case earlier, there were no customers in the shop. The mustached man in the camouflage fatigues looked up from a magazine. With his hair standing on end he had the look of perpetual surprise.

“I’ve got a rush delivery for Frazer Labs,” Jack said. He plopped the parcel down on the glass counter and shoved the clipboard under the man’s nose. “Sign there at the bottom,” he added while proffering his pen to the man.

The man took the pen but hesitated and eyed the box.

“This is the right address, isn’t it?” Jack asked.

“I reckon,” the man said. He stroked his mustache and looked up at Jack. “What’s the rush?”

“I was told there was dry ice in there,” Jack said. Then he leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “My supervisor thinks it’s a shipment of live bacteria. You know, for research and all.”

The man nodded.

“I was surprised I wasn’t delivering this directly to the lab,” Jack said. “It can’t sit around. I mean, I don’t think it will leak out or anything; at least I don’t think so. But it might die and then it will be useless. I assume you have a way of getting in touch with your customers?”

“I reckon,” the man repeated.

“I’d advise you to do that,” Jack said. “Now sign and I’ll be on my way.”

The man signed his name. Reading upside down, Jack made out “Tex Hartmann.” Tex pushed the clipboard back toward Jack, and Jack slipped it under his arm. “I’m sure glad to get that thing off my truck,” Jack said. “I’ve never been much of a fan of bacteria and viruses. Did you hear about those cases of plague that were here in New York last week? They scared me to death.”

The man nodded again.

“Take care,” Jack said with a wave. He walked out of the store and climbed into his truck. He wished that Tex had been a bit more talkative. Jack wasn’t sure if he would be calling Frazer Labs or not. But just as Jack was releasing the emergency brake he could see Tex through the window dialing his phone.

Pleased with himself, Jack drove several blocks down Broome Street, then circled the block. He parked about a half block from the pawn shop and turned off the motor. After locking the doors, he broke out the deli food. Whether he was hungry or not, he was going to make himself eat something.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” BJ questioned.

“Yeah, man, I’m sure,” Twin said. He was maneuvering his Cadillac around Washington Square Park looking for someplace to park. It wasn’t looking good. The park was crammed full of people entertaining themselves in a bewildering variety of ways. There was skateboarding, in-line skating, Frisbee throwing, break dancing, chess playing, and drug dealing. Baby carriages dotted the park. It was a carnival-like atmosphere, which was exactly why Twin had suggested the park for the upcoming meeting.

“Shit, man, I feel naked without some kind of ordnance. It’s not right.”

“Shut your mouth, BJ, and look for a spot for this ride of mine,” Twin said. “This is going to be a meeting of the brothers. There’s no need for any firepower.”

“What if they bring some?” BJ asked.

“Hey, man, don’t you trust nobody?” Twin asked. At that moment he saw a delivery van pulling away from the curb. “What do you know, we’re in luck.”

Twin expertly guided his car into the spot and pushed on the emergency brake.

“It says for commercial vehicles only,” BJ said. He had his face pressed up against the window to see the parking sign.

“With all the crack we’ve moved this year I think we qualify,” Twin said with a laugh. “Come on, get your black ass in gear.”

They got out of the car and crossed the street to enter the park. Twin checked his watch. They were a little early despite the trouble parking. That was how Twin liked it for this kind of meeting. He wanted a chance to scope the place out. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other brothers, it was just that he liked to be careful.

But Twin was in for a surprise. When his eyes swept the area for the agreed-upon meeting he found himself transfixed by the stare of one of the more physically imposing men he’d seen in some time.

“Uh-oh,” Twin said under his breath.

“What’s the matter?” BJ demanded, instantly alert.

“The brothers have gotten here before us,” Twin said.

“What do you want me to do?” BJ asked. His own eyes raced around the park until they, too, settled on the same man Twin had spotted.

“Nothing,” Twin said. “Just keep walking.”

“He looks so goddamn relaxed,” BJ said. “It makes me worried.”

“Shut up!” Twin commanded.

Twin walked right up to the man whose piercing eyes had never left his. Twin formed his right hand into the form of a gun, pointed at the man, and said: “Warren!”

“You got it,” Warren said. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” Twin said. He then ritualistically raised his right hand to head height. Warren did the same and they high-fived. It was a perfunctory gesture, akin to a couple of rival investment bankers shaking hands.

“This here’s David,” Warren said, motioning toward his companion.

“And this here’s BJ,” Twin said, mimicking Warren.

David and BJ eyed each other but didn’t move or speak.

“Listen, man,” Twin said. “Let me say one thing right off. We didn’t know the doc was living in your hood. I mean, maybe we should have known, but we didn’t think about it with him being white.”

“What kind of a relationship did you have with the doc?” Warren asked.

“Relationship?” Twin questioned. “We didn’t have no relationship.”

“How come you’ve been trying to ice him?” Warren asked.

“Just for some small change,” Twin said. “A white dude who lives down our way came to us and offered us some cash to warn the doc about something he was doing. Then, when the doc didn’t take our advice, the dude offered us more to take him out.”

“So you’re telling me the doc hasn’t been dealing with you people?” Warren asked.

“Shit no,” Twin said with a derisive laugh. “We don’t need no honky doctor for our operation, no way.”

“You should have come to us first,” Warren said. “We would have set you right about the doc. He’s been running with us on the b-ball court for four or five months. He’s not half bad neither. So I’m sorry about Reginald. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened if we’d talked.”

“I’m sorry about the kid,” Twin said. “That shouldn’t have happened neither. Trouble was, we were so pissed about Reginald. We couldn’t believe a brother would get shot over a honky doctor.”

“That makes us even,” Warren said. “That’s not counting what happened last night, but that didn’t involve us.”

“I know,” Twin said. “Can you imagine that doc? He’s like a cat with nine lives. How the hell did that cop react so fast? And why was he in there? He must think he’s Wyatt Earp or something.”

“The point is that we have a truce,” Warren said.

“Damn straight,” Twin said. “No more brother shooting brother. We’ve got enough trouble without that.”

“But a truce means you lay off the doc too,” Warren said.

“You care what happens to that dude?” Twin asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Warren said.

“Hey, then it’s your call, man,” Twin said. “It wasn’t like the money was that good anyway.”

Warren stuck out his hand palm up. Twin slapped it. Then Warren slapped Twin’s.

“Be good,” Warren said.

“You too, man,” Twin said.

Warren motioned to David that they were leaving. They walked back toward the Washington Arch at the base of Fifth Avenue.

“That wasn’t half bad,” David said.

Warren shrugged.

“You believe him?” David asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Warren said. “He might deal in drugs, but he’s not stupid. If this thing goes on, we all lose.”