Plum Island (25 page)

I dried off with the provided towel, threw it in a hamper, then walked, naked, back to my locker, germ-free and squeaky clean,
at least on the outside.

Other than the men I’d entered with, there was no one around. Even the attendant wasn’t visible. I could see how a person
could conceivably smuggle large items out of the lab and into the locker room. But I don’t think that’s what happened, so
it didn’t matter if it were possible or not.

Zollner had disappeared and come back with locker keys, which he distributed.

I opened my locker and began getting dressed. Some very thoughtful fellow, quite possibly Mr. Stevens, had been kind enough
to launder my shorts and in doing so had inadvertently washed the red clay right out of my pocket. Oh, well. Good try, Corey.

I examined my .38 and it looked okay, but you never know when some joker is going to file the firing pin, clog the barrel,
or take the powder out of your rounds. I made a mental note to check the piece and the ammo more closely at home.

Max, whose locker was beside mine, said softly, “That was an experience.”

I nodded and asked, “Now do you feel better about living downwind from Plum Island?”

“Oh, yeah, I feel fucking terrific.”

“I was impressed with the biocontainment,” I said. “State-of-the art.”

“Yeah. But I’m thinking about a hurricane or a terrorist attack.”

“Mr. Stevens will protect Plum Island from a terrorist attack.”

“Yeah. How about a hurricane?”

“Same drill as a nuclear attack—bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.”

“Right.” He looked at me and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“You sort of got spacey back there.”

“Tired. My lung is wheezing.”

“I feel responsible about dragging you into this.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

He smiled and said, “If you nail Ms. Tightass, you owe me one.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” I slipped into my docksiders and stood. I said to Max, “You must
be having an allergic reaction to the soap. Your face is all blotchy.”

“What?”
He put his hands to his cheeks and made for the closest mirror. He kept looking at himself, leaning closer over the washbasin.
“What the hell are you talking about? My skin is fine.”

“Must be the light in here.”

“Cut the crap, Corey. This isn’t a funny subject.”

“Right.” I went to the door of the locker room where Dr. Z was waiting. I said to him, “Despite my bad manners, I’m very impressed
with your operation, and I thank you for your time.”

“I enjoyed your company, Mr. Corey. I regret having met you under these sad circumstances.”

George Foster joined us and said to Dr. Zollner, “I intend to make a favorable report regarding your biocontainment procedures.”

“Thank you.”

“But I think that perimeter security could be better, and I’ll recommend that a study be conducted.”

Zollner nodded.

Foster went on, “Fortunately, it would appear that the Gordons did not steal any dangerous substance, and if they stole anything,
it was an experimental vaccine.”

Dr. Zollner again nodded.

Foster concluded, “I would recommend a permanent detachment of Marines at Fort Terry.”

I was anxious to get out of the orange locker room and into the sunlight, so I moved toward the door and everyone followed.

Out in the big, gleaming lobby, Dr. Z looked for Beth, still not getting it.

Anyway, we all walked to the reception counter where we exchanged our white plastic chain passes for the original blue clip-on
ones. I said to Zollner, “Is there a gift shop where we can buy souvenirs and T-shirts?”

Zollner laughed. “No, but I’ll suggest it to Washington. In the meantime, you should pray that you haven’t picked up a souvenir
of another kind.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Dr. Zollner looked at his watch and said, “You can catch the 3:45 ferry if you wish, or you can come back to my office if
you have anything further to discuss.”

I’d wanted to go back to the artillery batteries and explore the underground passages, but I thought if I suggested that,
I’d have a mutiny on my hands. Also, to be honest, I was not up to another trek around the island.

I said to Dr. Zollner, “We await the boss. We don’t make major decisions without her.”

Dr. Z nodded and smiled.

It appeared to me that Zollner didn’t seem particularly worried about any of this—about people questioning his security or
his biocontainment procedures, or even about the possibility that his two star scientists stole something good and valuable,
or something bad and deadly. It occurred to me that Zollner was not worried because even if he’d somehow screwed up or if
he could be held accountable for someone else’s screwup, he was already off the hook—he’d already cut his deal with the government;
he was cooperating in a cover-up in exchange for a free pass on this problem. There was also a possibility, however remote,
that Dr. Z killed the Gordons or knew who killed them. As far as I was concerned, everyone who was close to the Gordons was
a suspect.

Beth came out of the ladies’ locker room and joined us at the reception counter. I noticed that she hadn’t done a complete
paint-by-numbers job, and her cheeks glowed with that freshly scrubbed look.

She exchanged passes, and Dr. Zollner related his offers and our options.

Beth looked at us and said, “I’ve seen enough, unless you want to do the underground bunkers or something else.”

We all shook our heads.

She said to Dr. Zollner, “We reserve the right to revisit the island anytime until this case is closed.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome anytime.” He added, “But it’s not my decision.”

A horn sounded outside, and I looked through the glass doors. A white bus was out front, and a few employees were boarding.

Dr. Z said, “Forgive me if I don’t accompany you to the ferry.” He shook hands with all of us and bid us fond adieu, with
not a hint of good riddance. A real gentleman.

We went out into the sunlight, and I breathed gallons of fresh air before boarding the bus. The driver was another security
guy, and I guess he was our escort.

There were only six employees on the bus, and I didn’t recognize any of them from our tour.

The bus made the five-minute trip to the dock and stopped.

We all got out and walked to the blue and white ferry,
The Plum Runner
. We went into the big cabin, the horn sounded, and we cast off.

The five of us remained standing, making small talk. One of the boat’s crew, a weather-beaten gent, came around and collected
our passes. He said, “So, did you like the island of Dr. Moreau?”

This literary reference took me aback coming from an old salt. We chatted with the guy for a minute and learned his name was
Pete. He also told us that he felt pretty bad about the Gordons.

He excused himself and went up the stairs that led to the top deck and the bridge. I followed, and before he opened the door
to the bridge, I said, “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

“Did you know the Gordons?”

“Sure did. We rode this boat together for two years on and off.”

“I was told they used their own boat to commute.”

“Sometimes. Nice new Formula 303. Twin Mercs. Fast as hell.”

Time to be blunt. I asked, “Any chance they were running drugs with that thing?”

“
Drugs?
Hell, no. They couldn’t find an island much less a drug ship.”

“How do you know?”

“I talked boats with them once in a while. They couldn’t navigate worth a damn. They didn’t even have a navigation system
on board. You know?”

“Right.” Now that he mentioned it, I never saw a satellite nav device on board. But if you were a drug runner, you
needed
a satellite navigation device. I said to Pete, “Maybe they were pulling a fast one on you. Maybe they were the best navigators
since Magellan.”

“Who?”

“Why do you think they couldn’t navigate?”

“I tried to get them into the Power Squadron course. You know? And they weren’t interested.”

Pete was a little dense. I tried again. “Maybe they were
making believe
they couldn’t navigate. You know, so no one would think they were running drugs.”

“Yeah?” He scratched his head. “Maybe. Don’t think so. They didn’t like the open water. If they were in their boat and they
saw the ferry, they’d get on the leeward side and stay with us all the way. They never liked to lose sight of land. Does that
sound like a drug runner to you?”

“I guess not. So, Pete, who killed them and why?”

He did a theatrical double take, then said, “Damned if I know.”

“You
know
you thought about it, Pete. Who and why? What did you first think? What did people say?”

He hemmed and hawed, then replied, “Well, I guess I thought they stole something from the lab. You know? Like something to
wipe out the world. And they were going to sell it to foreigners or something. You know? And the deal went bad, and they got
knocked off.”

“And you don’t think that anymore?”

“‘Well, I heard something different.”

“Like what?”

“Like what they stole was a vaccine worth millions.” He looked at me. “Is that right?”

“That’s it.”

“They wanted to get rich quick and instead they got dead quick.”

“The wages of sin is death.”

“Yup.” Pete excused himself and went into the wheel-house.

It was interesting, I thought, that Pete, and probably everyone else, including yours truly, had the same initial reaction
to the Gordons’ deaths. Then, on second thought, I came up with drug running. Now we’re doing vaccine. But sometimes your
first reaction, your gut reaction, is the right one. In any event, what all three theories had in common was
money
.

I stood on the top deck and watched the green shore of Plum Island recede into the distance. The sun was still high in the
west, and it felt good on my skin. I was enjoying the ride, the smell of the sea, even the movement of the boat. I had the
disturbing thought that I was going native. Next I’d be shucking clams, whatever that means.

Beth Penrose came up on deck and watched the ship’s wake awhile, then turned and leaned back against the rail, her face into
the sun.

I said to her, “You predicted what Zollner was going to say.”

She nodded. “It makes sense, and it fits the facts, and it resolves the problem we had with believing the Gordons were capable
of stealing deadly organisms, and also the problem we had believing they were running drugs.” She added, “The Gordons stole
something good. Something profitable. Money. Money is the motivator. Saint-seducing gold, as Shakespeare said.”

“I think I’ve had enough Shakespeare for this year.” I mulled a moment and said, “I don’t know why I never thought of that
… I mean, we were so hung up on plague and stuff, we never thought of the antidotes—vaccines, antibiotics, and antivirals,
and all of that.
That
is what the scientists are studying on Plum, and
that
is what the Gordons stole. Gee whiz, I’m getting dumb.”

She smiled, then said, “Well, to tell you the truth, I started thinking about vaccines and all of that last night— then when
Stevens mentioned foot-and-mouth vaccine, I knew where that was going.”

“Right. Now everyone can rest easy. No panic, no hysteria, no national emergency. Jeez, I thought we’d all be dead by Halloween.”

We looked at each other, and Beth said, “It’s all a lie, of course.”

“Yeah. But it’s a really good lie. This lie takes the heat off Plum Island and off the Feds in general. Meanwhile, the FBI
and CIA can work the case quietly without us and without media attention. You, Max, and I just got dealt out of the Plum Island
part of this case.”

“Right. Though we still have a double homicide to solve. On our own.”

“That’s right,” I said to Beth, “and I think I’m going to miss Ted Nash.”

She smiled, then looked at me with a serious expression and said, “I wouldn’t cross a man like that.”

“Screw him.”

“So, you’re a tough guy.”

“Hey, I took ten slugs and finished my coffee before I walked to the hospital.”

“It was three, you spent a month in the hospital, and you’re still not completely recovered.”

“You’ve been talking to Max. How sweet.”

She didn’t respond. She rarely took the bait, I noticed. I’d have to remember that.

She asked me, “What did you think of Stevens?”

“The right man for the right job.”

She asked, “Does he lie?”

“Of course.”

“How about Zollner?”

“I liked him.”

“Does he lie?”

“Not naturally, the way Stevens does. He’s been prompted though. Rehearsed.”

She nodded, then asked, “Is he running scared?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing to be frightened about. It’s all under control. Stevens and Zollner have made their deals with the government.”

She nodded in understanding. “That was my impression. The cover-up was conceived, written, and directed late last night, early
this morning. The lights burned all night in Washington and on Plum Island. This morning, we saw the play.”

“You got it.” I added, “I told you not to trust those two jokers.”

She nodded again, then said, “I’ve never been in a situation where I couldn’t trust the people I was working with.”

“I have. It’s a real challenge—watch your mouth, cover your ass, grow eyes in the back of your head, smell for rats, and listen
for what’s not said.”

She glanced at me and asked, “Were you feeling okay back there?”

“I’m feeling fine.”

“You should get some rest.”

I ignored this and said to her, “Nash has a teeny weenie.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Well, I wanted you to know because I saw that you were interested in him, and I didn’t want you wasting your time with a
guy who has a third pinky between his legs.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Why don’t you mind your own business?”