“In the house!” Richard said.
Jack started walking on wobbly legs through the wet grass. It was much colder than in the city, and he could see his breath. Ahead a white farmhouse loomed in the darkness. There were lights in the windows facing a balustraded porch. Jack could make out smoke and a few sparks issuing from the chimney.
As they reached the porch, Jack glanced around. To the left he could see the dark outline of a barn. Beyond that was a field. Then there were mountains. There were no distant lights; it was an isolated, private hideaway.
“Come on!” Richard said, poking Jack in the ribs with the barrel of the gun. “Inside.”
The interior was decorated as a comfortable weekend/summer house with an English country flair. There were matching calico couches facing each other in front of a massive fieldstone chimney. In the fireplace was a roaring, freshly kindled fire. An oriental rug covered most of the wide-board floor.
Through a large arch was a country kitchen with a center table and ladder-back chairs. Beyond the table was a Franklin stove. Against the far wall was a large 1920s-style porcelain kitchen sink.
Richard marched Jack into the kitchen and motioned for him to get down on the rag rug in front of the sink. Sensing he was about to be shackled to the plumbing, Jack asked to use the rest room.
The request brought on a new argument between brother and sister. Terese wanted Richard to go into the bathroom with Jack, but Richard flatly refused. He told Terese she could do it, but she thought it was Richard’s role. Finally they agreed to let Jack go in by himself, since the guest bathroom had only one tiny window, one that was too small for Jack to climb through.
Left to himself, Jack got out the rimantadine and took one of the tablets. He’d been discouraged that the drug had not prevented his infection, but he did think it was slowing the flu’s course. No doubt his symptoms would be far worse if he weren’t taking it.
When Jack came out of the bathroom, Richard took him back to the kitchen, and as Jack had anticipated, locked the handcuffs around the kitchen drainpipe. While Terese and Richard retired to the couches in front of the fire, Jack eyed the plumbing with the intent of escaping. The problem was that the pipes were old-fashioned. They weren’t PVC or even copper. They were brass and cast iron. Jack tried putting pressure on them, but they didn’t budge.
Resigned for the moment, Jack assumed the most comfortable position. It was lying on his back on the rag rug. He listened to Terese and Richard, who for the moment had gotten past their attempts to blame each other for the present catastrophe. They were now being more rational. They knew they had to make some decisions.
Jack’s position on his back made his nasal discharge run down the back of his throat. His coughing jags returned, as did a round of violent sneezes. When he finally got himself under control he found himself looking up into Terese’s and Richard’s faces.
“We have to know how you found out about Frazer Labs,” Richard said, gun once again in hand.
Jack feared that if they found out he was the only person who knew about Frazer Labs, they’d probably kill him then and there.
“It was easy,” Jack said.
“Give us an idea how easy,” Terese said.
“I just called up National Biologicals and asked if anyone had recently ordered plague bacteria. They told me Frazer Labs had.”
Terese reacted as if she’d been slapped. Angrily she turned to Richard. “Don’t tell me you ordered the stuff,” she said with disbelief. “I thought you had all these bugs in your so-called collection.”
“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.”