So, I stood there and tried to commune with the spirits that possibly still occupied this room — Judy, Tom… give me a clue, a sign.
I closed my eyes and waited. Fanelli says the dead speak to him. They identify their murderers, but they always speak Polish or Spanish or sometimes Greek, so he can't understand them. I think he's pulling my leg. He's crazier than I am.
Unfortunately, the Gordons' lab was a bust, and we continued on.
We spoke to a dozen scientists who worked with or for the Gordons. It was obvious that (a) everyone loved Tom and Judy; (b) Tom and Judy were brilliant; (c) Tom and Judy wouldn't hurt a fly unless it advanced the cause of science in the service of man and beast; (d) the Gordons, while loved and respected, were different; (e) the Gordons, while scrupulously honest in their personal dealings, would probably screw the government and steal a vaccine worth its weight in gold, as someone phrased it. It occurred to me that everyone was reading from the same script.
We continued our walk and climbed a staircase to the second floor. My bad leg was dragging, and my bad lung was wheezing so loudly I thought everyone could hear it. I said to Max, "I thought this wasn't going to be strenuous."
He looked at me and forced a smile. He said to me softly, "I get claustrophobic sometimes."
"Me too." In truth, it wasn't claustrophobia that was troubling him. Like most men of courage and action, myself included, Max didn't like a danger he couldn't pull his gun on.
Dr. Zollner was going on about the training programs that were conducted here, the visiting scientists, graduate students, and veterinarians who came from all over the world to learn and teach here. He also spoke of the facility's foreign cooperative programs in places like Israel, Kenya, Mexico, Canada, and England. "In fact," he said, "the Gordons went to England about a year ago. Pirbright Laboratory, south of London. That's our sister lab there."
I asked Dr. Zollner, "Do you get visitors from the Army Chemical Corps?"
Dr. Zollner looked at me and commented, "Whatever I say, you see something to question. I'm glad you're listening."
"I'm listening for the answer to my question."
"The answer is it's none of your business, Mr. Corey."
"It is, Doctor. If we suspect that the Gordons stole organisms that can be used in biological warfare, and that's what got them murdered, then we have to know if such organisms exist here. In other words, are there biological warfare specialists here in this building? Do they work here? Experiment here?"
Dr. Zollner glanced at Messrs. Foster and Nash, and then said, "I would be less than truthful if I said no one from the Army Chemical Corps comes here. They are extremely interested in vaccines and antidotes for biological hazards… The United States government does not study, promote, or produce agents of offensive biological warfare. But it would be national suicide not to study defensive measures. So, someday, when that bad fellow with the can of anthrax paddles his canoe around Manhattan Island, we can be ready to protect the population." Dr. Zollner added, "You have my assurances that the Gordons had no dealings with anyone from the military, did not work in that area, and in fact, had no access to anything so lethal — "
"Except Ebola."
"You do listen. My staff should pay as much attention. But why bother with an Ebola weapon? We have anthrax. Trying to improve on anthrax is like trying to improve on gunpowder. Anthrax is easy to propagate, easy to handle, it diffuses nicely into the air, kills slowly enough for the infected population to spread it around, and cripples as many victims as it kills, causing a collapse of the enemy's health care system. But, officially, we don't have anthrax bombs or artillery shells. The point is, if the Gordons were trying to develop a biological weapon to sell to a foreign power, they wouldn't bother with Ebola. They were too smart for that. So put that suspicion to rest."
"I feel much better. By the way, when did the Gordons go to England?"
"Let's see… May of last year. I recall that I envied them going to England in May." He asked me, "Why do you ask?"
"Doc, do scientists know why they're asking questions all the time?"
"Not all the time."
"I assume the government paid all expenses for the Gordons' trip to England."
"Of course. It was all business." He thought a moment, then said, "Actually, they took a week in London at their own expense. Yes, I remember that."
I nodded. What I. didn't remember was any unusually large credit card bills in May or June of last year. I wondered where they'd spent the week. Not in a London hotel, unless they skipped out on the bill. I didn't recall any large cash withdrawals either. Something to think about.
The problem with asking really clever questions in front of Foster and Nash was that they heard the answers. And even if they didn't know where the questions were coming from, they were smart enough to know — contrary to what I indicated to Zollner — that most questions had a purpose.
We were walking down a very long corridor, and no one was speaking, then Dr. Zollner said, "Do you hear that?" He stopped dead and put his hand to his ear. "Do you hear that?"
We all stood motionless, listening. Finally, Foster asked, "What?"
"Rumbling. It's a rumbling. It's…"
Nash knelt down and put the palms of his hands on the floor. "Earthquake?"
"No," Zollner said, "it's my stomach. I'm hungry." He laughed and slapped his fat. "Lighten up," he said in his German accent, which made it sound even more funny. Everyone was smiling except Nash, who stood stiffly and brushed his hands off.
Zollner went to a door painted bright red, on which was plastered six standard OSHA-type signs, as follows: Biohazard, Radioactive, Chemical Waste, High Voltage, Poison Hazard, and finally, Untreated Human Waste. He opened the door and announced, "Lunch Room."
Inside the plain white cement block room were a dozen empty tables, a sink, a refrigerator, microwave oven, bulletin boards covered with notices and messages, and a water cooler and coffee maker, but no vending machines, the fact being that no one wanted to come in here and service them. Sitting on a counter was a fax machine, a menu of the day's fare, and paper and pencil. Dr. Zollner said, "Lunch is on me. He wrote himself a big order which I saw included the soup du jour, which was beef. I didn't even want to think about where the beef came from.
For the first time since I left the hospital, I ordered Jell-O, and for the first time in my life, I skipped the meat dishes.
No one else seemed particularly hungry, and they all ordered salads.
Dr. Zollner faxed the order and said, "The lunch hour here doesn't start until one, but they will deliver quickly because I requested it."
Dr. Zollner suggested we wash our hands, which we all did at the sink with some weird brown liquid soap that smelled like iodine.
We all got coffee and sat. A few other people came in and got coffee and took things out of the refrigerator or faxed orders. I looked at my watch to see the time and saw my wrist.
Zollner said, "If you'd brought your watch in, I'd have to decontaminate it and quarantine it for ten days."
"My watch wouldn't survive a decontamination." I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes to one p.m.
We made small talk for a few minutes. The door opened and a man in lab whites entered, pushing a stainless steel cart which looked like any other lunch cart, except it was covered with a sheet of plastic wrap.
Dr. Zollner pulled off the wrap and disposed of it, then — perfect host — gave us each our orders and dismissed the man and the cart.
Max asked, "That guy has to shower now?"
"Oh, yes. The cart is first put in a decon room and retrieved later."
I asked, "Is it possible to use that cart to smuggle large items out of here?"