Dr. Zollner was arranging his large lunch in front of him with the expertise of a real trencherman. He looked up from his labor of love and said, "Now that you mention it, yes. That cart is the only thing that makes a regular journey between administration and biocontainment. But if you used it to smuggle, you'd have to have two other people in on it. The person who pushes it in and out, then the person who washes it and takes it back to the kitchen. You're very clever, Mr. Corey."
"I think like a criminal."
He laughed and dug into the beef soup. Yuck.
I regarded Dr. Zollner as I slurped my lime Jell-O. I liked the guy. He was funny, friendly, hospitable, and smart. He was lying through his teeth, of course, but other people had forced him to do that. Probably the two jokers across the table, for starters, and God knew who else in Washington had briefed Dr. Z on the phone all morning while we were rambling around the ruins and getting brochures on rinderpest and blue balls or whatever. Dr. Z in turn had briefed Dr. Chen, who was a little too perfect. I mean, of all the people we could have questioned, Zollner led us to Dr. Chen, whose work seemed to be only peripherally related to the Gordons' work. And she was introduced as a good friend of the Gordons, but wasn't; I'd never heard her name mentioned before today. And then there were the other scientists to whom we'd spoken briefly, before Zollner whisked us off — they, too, had been on the same page as Chen.
There was a lot of smoke and mirrors in this place, and I'm sure there always had been. I said to Zollner, "I don't believe this story about the Ebola vaccine. I know what you're hiding and what you're covering up."
Dr. Zollner stopped in mid-chew, which was a chore for him. He stared at me.
I said, "It's the Roswell aliens, isn't it, Doc? The Gordons were about to blow the lid on the Roswell aliens."
The room was real quiet, and even some of the other scientists glanced at us. Finally, I smiled and said, "That's what this green Jell-O is — alien brains. I'm eating the evidence."
Everyone smiled and chuckled. Zollner laughed so hard he almost choked. Boy, I'm funny. Zollner and I could do a great routine; Corey and Zollner. That might be better than The Corey Files.
We all went back to our lunches and made chitchat. I glanced at my companions. George Foster had looked a little panicky when I said I didn't believe the Ebola vaccine thing, but he was fine now, eating alfalfa sprouts. Ted Nash had looked less panicky and more murderous. I mean, whatever was going on here, this was not the time or place to yell bullshit or liar. Beth and I made eye contact, and as usual I couldn't tell if she was amused by me or if she was annoyed. The way to a woman's heart is through her funny bone. Women like men who make them laugh. I think.?
I looked at Max, who seemed less phobic in this almost normal room. He seemed to enjoy his three-bean salad, which is not the thing that should be on a menu in an enclosed environment.
We picked at the chow, then the conversation got back to the possibly purloined vaccine. Dr. Z said, "Someone before mentioned that this vaccine would be worth its weight in gold, which made me recall something — a few of the vaccines that the Gordons were testing had a golden hue, and I recall the Gordons once referring to the vaccines as liquid gold. I thought that odd, perhaps, because we never speak in terms of money or profit here…"
"Of course not," I said. "You're a government agency. It's not your money, and you never have to show a profit."
Dr. Zollner smiled. "And the same in your business, sir."
"The very same. In any case, now we believe that the Gordons came to their senses, and, no longer satisfied with working in the interests of science for government wages, they discovered capitalism and went for the gold."
"Correct." He added, "You've spoken to their colleagues, you've seen what they did here, and now you can draw only one conclusion. Why are you still skeptical?"
"I'm not skeptical," I lied. Of course I was skeptical; I'm a New Yorker and a cop. But I didn't want to upset Dr. Zollner, Mr. Foster, or Mr. Nash, so I said, "I'm just trying to make sure the facts fit. The way I see it, either the Gordons' murders had nothing to do with their work here, and we're all following a false trail — or if their murders were related to their work, then most probably it had to do with the theft of a viral vaccine worth millions. Liquid gold. And it would appear that the Gordons were double-crossed, or maybe they tried to double-cross their partner, and were murdered — " Ping.
Jeez. There it was again. What…? It was out there. I couldn't see it, but I could hear its echo, and I could sense its presence, but what was it?
"Mr. Corey?"
"Huh?"
Dr. Zollner's twinkling blue eyes were appraising me through his little wire frame glasses. He said, "Is there something on your mind?"
"No. Oh, yeah. If I had to remove my watch, why can you keep your glasses?"
"That's the one exception. There is an eyeglass bath on the way out. Does this lead you to yet another clever thought or theory?"
"Gel sequencing plates disguised as eyeglasses."
He shook his head. "Idiotic. I think the gel plates were smuggled out in the lunch cart."
"Right."
Dr. Z looked at the clock on the wall and said, "Shall we continue?"
We all stood and deposited our plastic and paper in a red trash can lined with a red plastic bag.
Out in the corridor, Dr. Zollner said, "We will now enter Zone Three. There is a higher risk of contagion in Zone Three, of course, so if anyone does not want to go, I will have someone escort you back to the shower room."
Everyone seemed eager to burrow farther into the bowels of hell. Well, that might be overstating the response. Presently, we moved through a red door that was marked "Zone Three." Here, Zollner explained, his researchers worked with live pathogens — parasites, viruses, bacteria, fungi, and other yuckies — and he showed us a lab where a woman sat on a stool at a sort of opening in the wall. She had a mask on and her hands were covered with latex gloves. In front of her face was a plastic shield, something like a sneeze shield at a salad bar, but she wasn't handling cole slaw. Zollner said, "There is an exhaust in the opening where the pathogens are, so the risk of anything floating into the room is small."
Why," Max asked, "does she have a mask and we don't?"
"Good question," I agreed.
Zollner said, "She's much closer to the pathogen. If you want to get closer to take a look, I'll get you a mask."
"Pass," I said.
"Pass," everyone agreed.
Dr. Zollner moved closer to the woman and exchanged a few inaudible words with her. He turned, approached us, and said, "She's working on the virus that causes bluetongue disease." He thought a moment, then said, "Perhaps I got too close." He stuck out his tongue, which was actually bright blue, and looked down his nose. God in heaven… or is it the blueberry pie I had for lunch?" He laughed. We laughed. In truth, the gallows humor was wearing thin, even for me, and I have a lot of tolerance for stupid jokes.
We all left the room.
This part of the building looked less populated than Zone Two, and the people I saw looked a bit less jolly.
Zollner said, "There isn't much to see here, but if I say that, then Mr. Corey will insist on seeing every nook and cranny of the place."
"Oh, Dr. Zollner," I said, "have I given you cause to say such things about me?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, let's see every nook and cranny of the place."
I heard some groans, but Dr. Z said, "Very well, follow me." We spent the next half hour or so looking at nooks and crannies, and in truth, most of Zone Three looked the same — room after room of men and women peering through microscopes, making slides out of slime, slides from the blood and tissue of living and dead animals, and so on. Some of these people actually had their lunches with them and were eating while they played around with disgusting stuff.