The Anthrax Letters: The Attacks That Shocked America (28 page)

Meanwhile, after the terror incidents in 2001, government backing for programs to thwart bioterrorism mushroomed. Money for bioterrorism-related research at the National Institutes of Health increased fivefold, from about $340 million in 2002 to $1.6 billion in 2003. Anthony Fauci, director of the NIH’s Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, oversees most of the new research money. In 2002, NIH dollars were already funding 125 studies under the category of bioterrorism. They ranged from vaccine development to blocking paths of infection. Some, like Nancy Connell’s Pentagonbacked project, were aimed at developing faster means of detecting pathogens.

In June 2002 new bioterrorism legislation provided an additional $4.6 billion for increasing stockpiles of vaccines, enhancing security for water systems, and improving hospital preparedness. “Biological weapons are potentially the most dangerous weapons in the world,” declared President Bush as he signed the bill. Recalling that “last fall’s anthrax attacks were an incredible tragedy,” he announced his determination to better “prevent, identify and respond” to bioterrorism. Thus, besides the Department of Defense, other agencies—notably the Departments of Justice, Agriculture, and Health and Human Services—were funding additional projects related to bioterrorism. The establishment of a new Department of Homeland Security at the end of 2002 was intended to help coordinate all these efforts.

The torrent of money prompted some to wonder how efficiently it could all be absorbed. Dr. D.A. Henderson, director of the Office of Public Health Preparedness in the Department of Health and Human Services, had for some years been pleading for more biodefense funds. Now he recited a telling metaphor: “We have been in the desert, praying for rain, and suddenly we are hit with a typhoon. It is indeed overwhelming.” Despite a weak national economy, the mood of the nation was supportive. Connell and her fellow investigators were large beneficiaries of the nation’s hopes and fears. Would they be able to deliver?

On Tuesday, June 18, 2002, Jessica Mann could hardly contain herself. It was 10 in the morning and the Fed Ex delivery should have arrived. “OK, Jessica,” said Nancy Connell. “Let’s go see if it’s here.” The two women walked out of the laboratory suite through the long basement passageway. Two turns and four doors later they were on the loading dock at the rear of the building. Mann approached a clerk whose name tag identified him as James. “Hi. We’re here to pick up a package for Nancy Connell’s lab. Is it here yet?” Mann asked.

James fumbled through a stack of newly arrived cartons and held one up. It was white, about 2 feet on each side, and not at all heavy. “This one’s addressed to Connell,” James said. He seemed to take no notice of the biohazard sign on the side or of the bold warning on the label—Infectious Substance: In Case Of Damage Or Leakage Immediately Notify Public Health Authority. The warning was followed by a phone number. The shipper’s address was USAMRIID in Fort Detrick, Maryland.

With controlled nonchalance, Jessica showed her identification to James and signed the release form. She cradled the carton and glanced at Connell. They broke into broad grins. With Jessica clutching the package as if it were a newborn baby, they retraced their steps to the laboratory suite. As they entered, Connell exulted to a few of the staff at the door, “Can you believe it? We’ve been waiting for this day for almost 2 years.” Someone held up a glass of water. “A toast,” he said.

After their pause for celebration, Connell and Mann headed deeper into the lab suite, took a right turn, and stood before a sealed door. It was the entry to the BSL-3 laboratory built a year earlier to handle highly infectious organisms. The TB bugs that Connell had long been working on could not legally be touched in the more common level-1 or level-2 labs. (Previously, she had traveled to Albert Einstein in New York City to do her research on tuberculosis bacteria.) The BSL-3 lab under the New Jersey medical school was among some 200 in the nation. It cost more than $1 million to build and thousands annually to maintain. (By early 2003 there were four even more elaborate security labs in the United States, plus three additional ones under construction. Designated BSL-4, with their complex pressure and air filtration systems, they each cost about $70 million to construct. Level-4 labs are required for working with lethal organisms for which there is little or no available treatment, such as smallpox and Ebola.)

Connell swiped her card through the panel to the right of the door, just below three red biohazard markers. She entered, followed by Mann who placed the box on a small table. Now in the outer containment area of the level-3 lab, Connell stepped behind a curtain and changed from silk business suit to shorts and T-shirt. Anything heavier would mean more heat and sweat under the protective gear. Mann was already in light clothing. They climbed into jumpsuits made of tyvek, a white plastic material that is impermeable to microorganisms. They zipped the suits up to their throats and pulled on tyvek booties with elastic bands that tightened around the ankles. Then the first layer of latex gloves, which they wrapped with brightly colored masking tape that fastened to the sleeves of the jumpsuits. Next, another pair of gloves, the working pair that must be replaced repeatedly as they become contaminated.

Finally, each woman slipped on a respirator hood. With a clear plastic visor in front, the bottom of the hood extended below the shoulders like a cape. Attached to the back of the hood was an air hose that reached the power pack around the waist. Each breath of inhaled air was forced through a decontamination filter at the top of the hood. With every surface of the body covered by protective gear, they felt the warmth of their suits even while cool air began to blow across their faces.

Connell and Mann glanced at each other’s outfits. “Looks good,” Nancy said, as she made sure Jessica was fully covered. Mann nodded and signaled a thumbs-up. Hand gestures were an easier means of communication than speech muffled by the masks and the whirring respirators.

Dressed like astronauts about to leave the mothership for a space walk, they stood before the next door and signed in with the date and time. When they opened the door a shrill alarm went off. The air pressure in the inner laboratory was lower to ensure that no germs escaped (if the room sprung a leak, air from outside would rush in, rather than vice versa), and the alarm signaled that the differential in air pressure had been disturbed. They stepped inside and closed the door. Mann reached for the kill switch and the noise stopped. They were in the “common room,” facing a table with a computer on it. Batches of sterile test tubes were on the shelf. Supply cabinets lined the walls. Nothing in the lab, including themselves, would leave until it had been washed with a decontaminant.

They moved a few feet to the left in front of yet another door. Connell and Mann each punched in four-digit codes to unlock the door to the “agent room.” It was this inner sanctum that would soon house the anthrax and plague bacteria in the sealed container under Mann’s arm, germs whose ancestors have killed millions of humans throughout the millennia. Connell thought to herself: “I feel totally excited. We have worked so hard to get to this point—to make this place so good and so safe. But thinking about the power of these bugs to devastate, it haunts my mind.”

The space inside was adequate for two people to sit and work or to take a few paces in any direction. On the left were two refrigerators. One contained carbon dioxide, which enhances the growth of certain organisms, including tuberculosis germs. Farther along the wall were a freezer and an incubator. At the far end, opposite the door, stood a centrifuge. The most compelling fixture was the 6-foot-long lab bench on the right, where experiments are conducted. Known as the “hood,” it sat behind a glass enclosure. The hood glowed purple from an ultraviolet light that killed germs and kept the area sterile. Mann flicked a switch and the purple was replaced by ordinary white light. “Don’t want to kill the anthrax and the plague,” she chuckled. They sat on stools in front of the hood, slid the window up, and placed the box inside. Connell narrated as they unpack their “matryoshka,” the Russian wooden dolls that contained smaller and smaller dolls in their hollow insides.

In the vials was agar, a gelatinlike material, on which a few streaks of bacteria were visible. “The bacteria look dark brownish,” Connell said. “Creamy surface. Smooth,” Mann added. “Jessica, I’ll get us started, but I want you to handle things too,” Connell said, her voice raised to penetrate their head coverings. One by one, Connell lifted four tiny plastic tubes from their chilled surroundings. “Cold enough to keep the bacteria alive but not for them to reproduce,” Mann said. Connell nodded. The first vial was labeled “Vollum,” a lethal strain of anthrax, named after the British scientist who discovered it in the 1940s. Vollum was a choice germ weapon in the Army’s arsenal before the U.S. biological arms program ended in 1969. The second was “Sterne,” a relatively harmless strain. Developed in the early 1920s by Max Sterne, a South African veterinarian, it is used to vaccinate animals. The remaining vials contained two strains of plague bacteria, one virulent, the other avirulent.

Connell unscrewed the top from the tube marked “Vollum,” inserted a thin plastic loop into the center, and gently stirred. She dipped the moistened loop into a test tube filled with 10 milliliters of a nutrient broth. “Nancy, okay if I do that with the Sterne vial?” Mann asked. “Sure,” Connell replied with easy confidence, knowing that Mann had performed similar procedures with other bacteria in the past. The next step was to place the larger tubes into an incubator. Kept at 37° Celsius, the temperature is ideal for bacterial growth. The Fahrenheit equivalent is 98.6°, the temperature of another optimal incubator for bacterial growth, the human body.

The next day, Mann and Connell were back in the lab. The broth was cloudy. That meant the bacteria were growing. Connell smiled and said, “Now, you want to put them in the centrifuge.” Mann secured the test tubes in the circular machine—about 3 feet in diameter—and set the dial. The rapid spinning forced the bacteria toward the bottom of the broth. After 5 minutes, Mann lifted the tubes from the centrifuge. “I’ll do the first pipette, Jessica, and you do the next.” Connell inserted a pipette, a thin plastic tube the size of a large straw, into the broth. She squeezed a lever at the top, which caused a suction action that drew up the liquid. A small clump of claylike material remained at the bottom of the test tube. It was a pellet of anthrax. She covered the pellet with glycerol, a liquid medium that would help sustain the bacteria when they were chilled. Mann duplicated the procedure with the other test tube and then put the tubes in the freezer.

During the following weeks Connell and Mann grew more bacteria and stored them in small vials in the freezer. Along the way, they also confirmed the presence of anthrax by drawing some of the cloudy broth onto an agar plate. After a night in the incubator, the agar was streaked with visible colonies of the bacteria. To the naked eye the colonies looked like lines with creamy smooth surfaces.

After a few weeks, Connell spent less time in the high-security lab, confident in Mann’s ability to handle the day-to-day work. Connell needed the time for teaching, meetings, overseeing other research projects, and for directing the university’s Center for BioDefense. Since no one may enter the lab alone, Mann was always accompanied by another member of Connell’s laboratory staff. Usually it was Paula Trzop, who also has been trained in the special safety requirements of the lab. The first months were devoted to making batches of the bacteria. Mann explained:

Mann estimated that each vial contained 10 million bacteria. The next step was to convert them from vegetative to spore form. “You just streak the bacteria onto special agar and incubate them at 30° Celsius.” That temperature is less than optimal for growth, and reproduction begins to shut down, though the bacteria do not die. Rather, after 7 days, the bacteria have largely transformed into dormant spores.

Meanwhile, in order to obtain blood for the experiments, Connell’s staff had posted signs around the medical school complex: “Healthy Human Volunteers Wanted for an Experiment on Infectious Disease.” The posters announced that donors who gave blood would be paid $25. A questionnaire filtered out women who were pregnant (whose iron levels could be reduced by loss of blood) and people with AIDS or who were otherwise unsuitable for the experiment. By October, working from a list of eligible volunteers, a physician in the medical school had begun to draw blood. “We take about 240 milliliters from each person,” Mann said, “which is about half the size of a soda can.”