Contagion (52 page)

     “I didn’t have plague,” Richard said. “And I thought plague would make the biggest media impact. But what difference does it make? They can’t trace where the bacteria came from.”

     “That’s where you are wrong,” Jack said. “National Biologicals tags their cultures. We all found out about it at the medical examiner’s office when we did the autopsy.”

     “You idiot!” Terese shouted. “You’ve left a goddamn trail right to your door.”

     “I didn’t know they tagged their cultures,” Richard said meekly.

     “Oh, God!” Terese said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “That means everybody at the ME’s office knows the plague episode was artificial.”

     “What should we do?” Richard asked nervously.

     “Wait a second,” Terese said. She looked down at Jack. “I’m not sure he’s telling the truth. I don’t think that fits with what Colleen said. Hang on. Let me call her.”

     Terese’s conversation with Colleen was short. Terese told her underling that she was worried about Jack and asked if Colleen could call Chet to inquire about Jack’s conspiracy theory. Terese wanted to know if anyone else at the medical examiner’s office subscribed to it. Terese concluded by telling Colleen that she was unreachable but would call back in fifteen minutes.

     During the interim, there was little conversation except for Terese asking Richard if he was sure he’d disposed of all the cultures. Richard assured her that he’d flushed everything down the toilet.

     When the fifteen minutes was up, Terese redialed Colleen as promised. At the end of their brief conversation Terese thanked Colleen and hung up.

     “That’s the first good news tonight,” Terese said to Richard. “No one else at the ME’s office gives any credence to Jack’s theory. Chet told Colleen that everyone chalks it up to Jack’s grudge against AmeriCare.”

     “So no one else must know about Frazer Labs and the tagged bacteria,” Richard said.

     “Exactly,” Terese said. “And that simplifies things dramatically. Now all we have to do is get rid of Jack.”

     “And how are we going to do that?” Richard asked.

     “First you are going to go out and dig a hole,” Terese said. “I think the best spot would be on the other side of the barn by the blueberry patch.”

     “Now?” Richard questioned.

     “This isn’t something we can blithely put off, you idiot,” Terese said.

     “The ground’s probably frozen,” Richard complained. “It will be like digging in granite.”

     “You should have thought of that when you dreamed up this catastrophe,” Terese said. “Get out there and get it done. There should be a shovel and a pick in the barn.”

     Richard grumbled as he pulled on his parka. He took the flashlight and went out the front door.

     “Terese,” Jack called out. “Don’t you think you’ve taken this a bit too far?”

     Terese got off the couch and came into the kitchen. She leaned against the cabinet and eyed Jack.

     “Don’t try to make me feel sorry for you,” she said. “If I warned you once, I warned you a dozen times to leave well enough alone. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

     “I can’t believe your career can be this important to you,” Jack said. “People have died, and more people can die still. Not just me.”

     “I never intended that anybody die,” Terese said. “That only happened thanks to my harebrained brother, who’s had this love affair with microbes ever since he was in high school. He’s collected bacteria the way a survivalist collects guns. Just having them around was a weird turn-on for him. Maybe I should have known he’d do something crazy sometime; I don’t know. Right now I’m just trying to get us out of this mess.”

     “You’re rationalizing,” Jack said. “You’re an accomplice, just as guilty as he is.”

     “You know something, Jack?” Terese said. “At this moment I couldn’t care less what you think.”

     Terese walked back to the fire. Jack could hear more logs being added.

     He rested his head on his forearm and closed his eyes. He was miserable, both sick and frightened. He felt like a condemned man vainly waiting for a reprieve.

     When the door burst open an hour later Jack jumped. He’d fallen asleep again. He also noticed a new symptom: now his eyes hurt when he looked from side to side.

     “Digging the hole was easier than I thought,” Richard reported. He peeled off his coat. “Wasn’t any frost at all. It must have been a bog in that area at one time, because there weren’t even any rocks.”

     “I hope you made it deep enough,” Terese said, tossing aside a book.

     “I don’t want any more screwups, like having him wash up in the spring rain.”

     “It’s plenty deep enough,” Richard said. He disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he came out Terese was putting on her coat. “Where are you going?”

     “Out,” Terese said. She headed for the door. “I’ll go for a walk while you kill Jack.”

     “Wait a second,” Richard said. “Why me?”

     “You’re the man,” Terese said with a scornful smile. “That’s a man’s job.”

     “The hell it is,” Richard said. “I’m not going to kill him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t shoot someone while he’s handcuffed.”

     “I don’t believe you,” Terese yelled. “You’re not making sense. You had no compunction about putting lethal bacteria into defenseless people’s humidifiers, which sure as hell killed them.”

     “It was the bacteria that killed them,” Richard said. “It was a fight between the bacteria and the person’s immune system. I didn’t do the killing directly. They had a chance.”

     “Give me patience!” Terese cried, rolling her eyes heavenward. She collected herself and took a breath. “Okay, fine. With the patients it wasn’t you, it was the bacteria. In this case it will be the bullet, not you. How’s that? Does that satisfy this weird sense of responsibility of yours?”

     “This is different,” Richard said. “It’s not the same at all.”

     “Richard, we don’t have any choice. Otherwise you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”

     Richard hesitantly looked over at the gun on the coffee table.

     “Get it!” Terese commanded when she saw him eyeing the pistol.

     Richard wavered.

     “Come on, Richard,” Terese urged.

     Richard went over and irresolutely picked up the gun. Holding it by the barrel as well as the handle, he cocked it.

     “Good!” Terese said encouragingly. “Now go over there and do it.”

     “Maybe if we take off the handcuffs, and he tries to run, I can . . .”

     Richard began. But he stopped in midsentence when Terese strode over to him with her eyes blazing. Without warning she slapped him. Richard recoiled from the blow, and his own anger flared.

     “Don’t even talk like that, you fool,” Terese spat. “We are not taking any more chances. Understand?”

     Richard put a hand to his face and then looked at it as if he expected to see blood. His initial fury quickly abated. He realized that Terese was right. Slowly he nodded.

     “Okay, now get to it,” Terese said. “I’ll be outside.”

     Terese strode to the door. “Do it quickly, but don’t make a mess,” she said. Then she was gone.

     Silence settled over the room. Richard didn’t move. He only turned the gun over slowly in his hands, as if he were inspecting it. Finally, Jack spoke up: “I don’t know whether I’d listen to her. You might face prison for the outbreaks if they can prove it was you behind them, but killing me like this in cold blood means the death penalty here in New York.”

     “Shut up,” Richard screamed. He rushed into the kitchen and assumed a shooting stance directly behind Jack.

     A full minute went by which seemed like an hour to Jack. He’d been holding his breath. Unable to hold it any longer, he exhaled—and immediately began coughing uncontrollably.

     The next thing he knew, Richard tossed the gun onto the kitchen table. Then he ran to the door. He opened it and shouted out into the night: “I can’t do it!”

     Almost immediately Terese reappeared. “You goddamned coward!” she told him.

     “Why don’t you do it yourself?” Richard spat back.

     Terese started to respond, but instead she strode to the kitchen table, snapped up the gun, and walked around to face Jack. Holding the pistol in both hands, she pointed it at his face. Jack stared back at her, directly into her eyes.

     The tip of the gun barrel began to waver. All at once Terese let out a barrage of profanity and threw the gun back onto the table.

     “Ah, iron woman isn’t as hard as she thought,” Richard taunted.

     “Shut up,” Terese said. She stalked back to the couch and sat down.

     Richard sat across from her. They eyed each other irritably. “This is becoming a bad joke,” she said.

     “I think we are all strung out,” Richard said.

     “That’s probably the first thing you’ve said that’s true,” Terese said.

     “I’m exhausted. What time is it?”

     “It’s after midnight,” Richard said.

     “No wonder,” Terese said. “I’ve got a headache.”

     “I’m not feeling so great myself,” Richard admitted.

     “Let’s sleep,” Terese said. “We’ll deal with this problem in the morning. Right now I can’t even see straight.”

     Jack woke up at four-thirty in the morning, shivering. The fire had gone out and the temperature in the room had fallen. The rag rug had provided some warmth. Jack had managed to pull it over him.

     The room was almost completely dark. Terese and Richard had not left on any lights when they’d retired to separate bedrooms. What little light there was drifted in from outside through the window over the sink. It was just enough for Jack to discern the vague shapes of the furniture.

     Jack didn’t know what made him feel worse: fear or the flu. At least his cough had not worsened. The rimantadine had seemingly protected him from developing primary influenza pneumonia.

     For a few minutes Jack allowed himself the luxury of contemplating being rescued. The problem was that the chances were minuscule. The only person who knew that the National Biologicals probe test was positive with the plague culture was Ted Lynch, not that he could know what it meant. Agnes might, but there was no reason for Ted to tell Agnes what he’d found.

     If rescue was not a viable possibility, then he’d have to rely on escape. With numb fingers Jack felt up and down the length of the drainpipe to which he was shackled. He tried to feel for any imperfections, but there were none. He positioned the handcuffs at various heights and, with his feet against the pipes, pushed until the handcuffs cut into his skin. The pipes were there to stay.

     If he were to escape it would have to occur when he was allowed to go to the bathroom. How he would actually do it, he had no idea. All he could hope was that they’d become careless.

     Jack shuddered when he thought of’ what morning might bring. A good night’s sleep would only toughen Terese’s resolve. The fact that neither Terese nor Richard could shoot him in cold blood the night before was scant reassurance. As self-centered as they both were, he couldn’t bank on that continuing indefinitely.

     Using his legs, Jack succeeded in getting the rag rug to fold over him again. Settling down as best he could, he tried to rest. If an opportunity of escape presented itself, he hoped he’d be physically able to take full advantage of it.

     33

     THURSDAY, 8:15 A.M., MARCH 28, 1996

     CATSKILL MOUNTAINS, NEW YORK

     The hours had passed slowly and miserably for Jack. He’d not been able to fall back asleep. Nor could he even find a comfortable position with his shivering. When Richard finally staggered into the room with his hair standing on end, Jack was almost glad to see him. “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Jack called out.

     “You’ll have to wait for Terese to get up,” Richard said. He was busy rebuilding the fire.

     The door to Terese’s room opened a few minutes later. Terese was dressed in an old bathrobe; she didn’t look any better than Richard. Her normal helmet of highlighted curls looked more like a mop. She was without makeup, and the contrast with her normal appearance made her seem exceptionally pale.

     “I’ve still got my headache,” Terese complained. “And I slept lousy.”

     “Me too,” Richard said. “It’s the stress, and we never really had any dinner.”

     “But I’m not hungry,” Terese said. “I can’t understand it.”

     “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Jack repeated. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

     “Get the gun,” Terese said to Richard. “I’ll unlock the handcuffs.”

     Terese came into the kitchen and bent down to reach under the sink with the handcuff key.

     “Sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Jack said. “You should have joined me out here in the kitchen. It’s been delightful.”

     “I don’t want to hear any mouth from you,” Terese warned. “I’m not in the mood.”

     The handcuff snapped open. Jack rubbed his chafed wrist as he stiffly got to his feet. A wave of dizziness spread over him, forcing him to lean against the kitchen table. Terese quickly relocked the handcuff around Jack’s free wrist. Jack wouldn’t have been able to resist even if he’d had the intention.

     “Okay, march!” Richard said. He was training the gun on Jack.

     “In a second,” Jack said. The room was still spinning.

     “No tricks!” Terese said. She stepped away from him.

     As soon as he could, Jack walked to the bathroom on rubbery legs. The first order of business was to relieve himself. The second was to take a dose of the rimantadine with a long drink of water. Only then did he hazard a look in the mirror. What he saw surprised him. He wasn’t sure he would have recognized himself. He looked like a vagrant. His eyes were bright red and slightly swollen. Dried blood was on the left side of his face and spattered on the shoulder of his uniform shirt, apparently from the blow he’d received in the car at the tollbooth. His lip was swollen where Richard had split it. Dried mucus stuck to his formidable stubble.