Jack rubbed his eyes forcibly, then blinked them open. He glanced around at the profusion of unfinished autopsy cases that littered his desk. He knew there was no chance he’d be able to concentrate enough to work on them.
   Then his eyes focused on two unfamiliar envelopes. One was a large manila envelope, the other was business size. Jack opened the manila one first. It contained the copy of a hospital chart. There was also a note from Bart Arnold saying that he’d taken it upon himself to get a copy of Kevin Carpenter’s chart to add to the others Jack had requested.
   Jack was pleased and impressed. Such initiative was commendable and spoke well for the entire PA investigative team. Jack opened the chart and glanced through it. Kevin had been admitted for an ACL repair of the right knee, which had gone smoothly Monday morning.
   Jack stopped reading and thought about the fact that Kevin had been immediately postoperative when he’d come down with his symptoms. Putting Kevin’s chart aside, he picked up Susanne Hard’s and confirmed that she, too, had been immediately post-op, having had a cesarean section. Looking at Pacini’s, he confirmed the same.
   Jack wondered if having had surgery had anything to do with their having contracted their respective illnesses. It didn’t seem probable, since neither Nodelman nor Lagenthorpe had undergone surgery. Even so, Jack thought he’d keep the operative connection in mind.
   Going back to Kevin’s chart, Jack learned that the flu symptoms started abruptly at six P.M. and progressed steadily and relentlessly until a little after nine. At that time they were considered worrisome enough to warrant transferring the patient to the intensive-care unit. In the unit he developed the respiratory distress syndrome that ultimately led to his death.
   Jack closed the chart and put it on the stack with the others. Opening the smaller envelope—addressed simply to “Dr. Stapleton”—Jack found a computer printout and a Post-it note from Kathy McBane. The note simply thanked him again for his attention to the affairs of the General. In a short postscript Kathy added that she hoped the enclosed printout would help him.
   Jack opened the printout. It was a copy of everything that had been sent from central supply to a patient by the name of Broderick Humphrey. The man’s diagnosis wasn’t mentioned, but his age was: forty-eight.
   The list was just as long as the lists he had for the infectious disease index cases. Like the other lists, it appeared to be random. It was not in alphabetical order, nor were similar products or equipment lumped together. Jack guessed the list was generated in the sequence the items were ordered. That idea was bolstered by the fact that all five lists started out identically, presumably because as each patient was admitted, he required standard, routine equipment.
   The random nature of the lists made them hard to compare. Jack’s interest was finding any ways that the control list differed from the others. After spending fifteen wasted minutes going back and forth among the lists, Jack decided to use the computer.
   The first thing he did was create separate files for each patient. Into each file he copied each list. Since he was hardly the world’s best typist, this activity took him a considerable amount of time.
   Several hours drifted by. In the middle of the transcription process Laurie again knocked on his door to say good night and to see if she could do anything for him. Jack was preoccupied, but he assured her that he was fine.
   When all the data were entered, Jack asked the computer to list the ways the infectious cases differed from the control case. What he got was disheartening: another long list! Looking at it, he realized the problem. In contrast to the control case, all five infectious cases had had sojourns in the intensive-care unit. In addition, all five infectious cases had died and the control hadn’t.
   For a few minutes Jack thought that his painstaking efforts had been for naught, but then he got another idea. Since he’d typed the lists into the computer in the same order they’d been originally, he asked the computer to make the comparison prior to the first product used in the ICU.
   As soon as Jack pushed his execute button the computer flashed its answer. The word “humidifier” appeared on the screen. Jack stared. Apparently the infectious cases had all used humidifiers from central supply; the control hadn’t. But was it a significant difference? From Jack’s childhood, he remembered his mother had put a humidifier in his room when he’d had the croup. He remembered the device as a small, boiling cauldron that sputtered and steamed at his bedside. So Jack could not imagine a humidifier having anything to do with spreading bacteria. At 212° Fahrenheit, it would boil bacteria.
   But then Jack remembered the newer type of humidifier: the ultrasonic, cold humidifier. That, he realized, could be a totally different story.
   Jack snatched up his phone and called the General. He asked to be put through to central supply. Mrs. Zarelli was off, so he asked to speak to the evening supervisor. Her name was Darlene Springborn. Jack explained who he was and then asked if central supply at the General handled the humidifiers.
   “Certainly do,” Darlene said. “Especially during the winter months.”
   “What kind does the hospital use?” Jack asked. “The steam type or the cold type?”
   “The cold type almost exclusively,” Darlene said.
   “When a humidifier comes back from a patient room what happens to it?” Jack asked.
   “We take care of it,” Darlene said.
   “Do you clean it?” Jack asked.
   “Certainly,” Darlene said. “Plus we run them for a while to be sure they still function normally. Then we empty them and scrub them out. Why?”
   “Are they always cleaned in the same location?” Jack asked.
   “They are,” Darlene said. “We keep them in a small storeroom that has its own sink. Has there been a problem with the humidifiers?”
   “I’m not sure,” Jack said. “But if so, I’ll let you or Mrs. Zarelli know.”
   “I’d appreciate it,” Darlene said.
   Jack disconnected but kept the phone in the crook of his shoulder while he got out Gloria Hernandez’s phone number. He punched in the digits and waited. A man answered who could speak only Spanish. After Jack struggled with a few broken phrases, the man told Jack to wait.
   A younger voice came on the line. Jack assumed it was Juan. He asked the boy if he could speak to his mother.
   “She’s very sick,” Juan said. “She’s coughing a lot and having trouble breathing.”
   “Did she call the hospital like I urged?” Jack asked.
   “No, she didn’t,” Juan said. “She said she didn’t want to bother anybody.”
   “I’m going to call an ambulance to come and get her,” Jack said without hesitation. “You tell her to hold on, okay?”
   “Okay,” Juan said.
   “Meanwhile, could you ask her one question,” Jack said. “Could you ask her if she cleaned any humidifiers last night? You know what humidifiers are, don’t you?”
   “Yeah, I know,” Juan said. “Just a minute.”
   Jack waited nervously, tapping his fingers on top of Kevin Carpenter’s chart. To add to his guilt, he thought he should have followed up on his suggestion for Gloria to call Zimmerman. Juan came back on the line.
   “She says thank you about the ambulance,” Juan said. “She was afraid to call herself because AmeriCare doesn’t pay unless a doctor says okay.”
   “What about the humidifiers?” Jack asked.
   “Yeah, she said she cleaned two or three. She couldn’t remember exactly.”
   After Jack hung up from talking to the Hernandez boy he called 911 and dispatched an ambulance to the Hernandez residence. He told the dispatcher to inform the EMTs that it was an infectious case and that they should at least wear masks. He also told her that the patient should go to the Manhattan General and no place else.
   With growing excitement, Jack placed a call to Kathy McBane. As late as it was, he didn’t expect to get her, but he was pleasantly surprised. She was still in her office. When Jack commented on the fact that she was still there after six, she said she’d probably be there for some time.
   “What’s going on?” Jack asked.
   “Plenty,” Kathy said. “Kim Spensor has been admitted into the intensive care unit with respiratory distress syndrome. George Haselton is also in the hospital and is worsening. I’m afraid your fears were well grounded.”
   Jack quickly added that Gloria Hernandez would be coming to the emergency room soon. He also recommended that the contacts of all these patients be immediately started on rimantadine.
   “I don’t know if Dr. Zimmerman will go for the rimantadine for contacts,” Kathy said. “But at least I’ve talked her into isolating these patients. We’ve set up a special ward.”
   “That might help,” Jack said. “It’s certainly worth a try. What about the microbiology tech?”
   “He’s on his way in at the moment,” Kathy said.
   “I hope by ambulance rather than public transportation,” Jack said.
   “That was my recommendation,” Kathy said. “But Dr. Zimmerman followed up on it. I honestly don’t know what the final decision was.”
   “That printout you sent over was helpful,” Jack said, finally getting around to why he’d called. “Remember when you told me about the General’s nebulizers getting contaminated in the intensive-care unit three months ago? I think there might have been a similar problem with the hospital’s humidifiers.”
   Jack told Kathy how he’d come to this conclusion, particularly about Gloria Hernandez having admitted to handling humidifiers the previous evening.
   “What should I do?” Kathy said with alarm.
   “At the moment I don’t want you to do anything,” Jack said.
   “But I should at least take the humidifiers out of service until their safety is assured,” Kathy said.
   “The problem is I don’t want you to become involved,” Jack said. “I’m afraid doing something like that might be dangerous.”
   “What are you talking about?” Kathy demanded angrily. “I am already involved.”
   “Don’t get upset,” Jack said soothingly. “I apologize. I’m afraid I’m handling this badly.” Jack had not wanted to draw anyone else into the web of his suspicions for fear of their safety, yet at the moment he didn’t seem to have any choice. Kathy was right: the humidifiers had to be taken out of service.
   “Listen, Kathy,” Jack said. Then, as succinctly as possible, he explained his theory about the recent illnesses being intentionally spread. He also told her there was a possibility Beth Holderness had been killed because he’d asked her to search the microbiology lab for the offending agents.
   “That’s a rather extraordinary story,” Kathy said haltingly. Then she added: “It’s a little hard to swallow all at once.”
   “I’m not asking you necessarily to subscribe to it,” Jack said. “My only interest in telling you now is for your safety. Whatever you do or say to anyone, please keep what I have told you in mind. And for God’s sake, don’t mention my theory to anyone. Even if I’m right, I have no idea who’s behind it.”
   “Well,” Kathy said with a sigh. “I don’t know what to say.”
   “You don’t have to say anything,” Jack said. “But if you want to help, there is something you could do.”
   “Like what?” Kathy asked warily.
   “Get some bacterial culture medium and viral transport medium from the microbiology lab,” Jack said. “But don’t tell anyone why you want them. Then get someone from engineering to open the elbow drain below the sink in the storeroom where the humidifiers are kept. Put aliquots from the trap into the two mediums and take them to the city reference lab. Ask them to see if they can isolate any one of the five agents.”
   “You think some of the microorganisms would still be there?” Kathy asked.
   “It’s a possibility,” Jack said. “It’s a long shot, but I’m trying to find proof whatever way I can. At any rate, what I’m suggesting you do is not going to hurt anyone except possibly yourself if you are not careful.”
   “I’ll think about it,” Kathy said.
   “I’d do it myself except for the reception I invariably get over there,” Jack said. “I was able to get away with visiting your office, but trying to get bacterial samples out of a trap in central supply is another thing entirely.”
   “I’d have to agree with you there,” Kathy said.
   After he hung up, Jack wondered about Kathy’s reaction to his revelations. From the moment he’d voiced his suspicions she’d sounded subdued, almost wary. Jack shrugged. At the moment there wasn’t anything else he could say to convince her. All he could do was hope she’d heed his warnings.
   Jack had one more call to make, and as he dialed the long-distance number he superstitiously crossed the middle and index fingers of his left hand. He was calling Nicole Marquette at the CDC, and Jack was hoping for two things. First, he wanted to hear that the sample had arrived. Second, he wanted Nicole to say that the titer was high, meaning there were enough viral particles to test without having to wait to grow it out.
   As the call went through Jack glanced at his watch. It was nearing seven P.M. He scolded himself for not having called earlier, thinking he’d have to wait until morning to reach Nicole. But after dialing the extension for the influenza unit, he got Nicole immediately.
   “It arrived here fine,” Nicole said in response to his query. “And I have to give you credit for packing it so well. The refrigerant pack and the Styrofoam kept the sample well preserved.”
   “What about the titer?” Jack asked.
   “I was impressed with that too,” Nicole said. “Where was this sample from?”
   “Bronchiole washings,” Jack said.
   Nicole gave a short whistle. “With this concentration of virus it’s got to be one hell of a virulent strain. Either that, or a compromised host.”
   “It’s a virulent strain all right,” Jack said. “The victim was a young healthy male. Besides that, one of the nurses taking care of him is already in the ICU herself in acute respiratory distress. That’s in less than twenty-four hours after exposure.”
   “Wow! I’d better do this typing immediately. In fact, I’ll stay here tonight. Are there any more cases besides the nurse?”
   “Three others that I know about,” Jack said.
   “I’ll call in the morning,” Nicole said. Then she hung up.
   Jack was mildly taken aback by the precipitous end to the conversation, but he was pleased that Nicole was as motivated as she’d apparently become.
   Jack replaced the phone receiver, and as he did so, he noticed the tremble of his hand. He took a few deep breaths and tried to decide what to do. He was concerned about going home. He had no way of gauging Warren’s reaction to Slam’s death. He also wondered if yet another assassin would be sent after him.
   The unexpected ring of the telephone interrupted his thoughts. He reached for the phone but didn’t pick it up while he tried to think who it could be. As late as it was, he had to shake off some irrational thoughts, like the worry it might be the man who’d tried to kill him that afternoon.
   Finally, Jack picked up the phone. To his relief, it was Terese.
   “You promised you would call,” she said accusingly. “I hope you’re not going to tell me you forgot.”
   “I’ve been on the phone,” Jack said. “In fact, I just this second got off.”
   “Well, all right,” Terese said. “But I’ve been ready to eat for an hour. Why don’t you come to the restaurant directly from work?”
   “Oh, jeez, Terese,” Jack voiced. With everything that had happened he’d totally forgotten about their dinner plans.
   “Don’t tell me you are going to try to cop out,” Terese said.
   “I’ve had a wicked day,” Jack said.
   “So have I,” Terese countered. “You promised, and as I said this morning, you have to eat. Tell me, did you have lunch?”
   “No,” Jack said.
   “Well, there you go,” Terese said. “You can’t skip dinner as well as lunch. Come on! I’ll understand if you have to go back to work. I might myself.”
   Terese was making a lot of sense. He needed to eat something even if he wasn’t hungry, and he needed to relax. Besides, knowing Terese’s persistence he didn’t expect she’d take no for an answer, and Jack did not have the energy for an argument.
   “Are you thinking or what?” Terese asked impatiently. “Jack, please! I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. We can compare war stories and have a vote whose day was the worst.”
   Jack was weakening. Suddenly having dinner with Terese sounded wonderfully appealing. He was concerned about putting her at risk simply through proximity, but he doubted anyone was trailing him now. If they were, he could certainly shake them on the way to the restaurant.
   “What’s the name of the restaurant?” Jack asked finally.
   “Thank you,” Terese said. “I knew you’d come through. It’s called Positano. It’s just up the street from me on Madison. You’ll love it. It’s small and very relaxing. Very un-New-Yorkish.”
   “I’ll meet you there in a half hour,” Jack said.
   “Perfect,” Terese said. “I’m really looking forward to this. It’s been a stressful few days.”
   “I can attest to that,” Jack said.
   Jack locked up his office and went down to the first floor. He did not know how to ensure that no one followed him, but he thought that he should at least glance out the front to see if anyone suspicious was lurking there. As he passed through communications he noticed that Sergeant Murphy was still in his cubbyhole talking with someone Jack didn’t recognize.
   Jack and the sergeant exchanged waves. Jack wondered if there had been an unusual number of unidentified dead over the last several days. Murphy usually left at five like clockwork.
   Reaching the front door, Jack scanned the area outside. He immediately recognized the futility of what he was doing. Particularly with the homeless facility next door in the old Bellevue Hospital building, there were any number of people loitering who could have qualified as suspicious.
   For a few moments Jack watched the activity on First Avenue. Rush hour was still in full swing with bumper-to-bumper traffic heading north. The buses were all filled to overflowing. All the cabs were occupied.
   Jack debated what to do. The idea of standing in the street, trying to catch a taxi, had no appeal whatsoever. He’d be too exposed. Someone might even attack him right there, especially if they had been willing to try to shoot him in a drugstore.
   A passing delivery van gave Jack an idea. Turning back into the building, he descended to the morgue floor and walked into the mortuary office. Marvin Fletcher, one of the evening mortuary techs, was having coffee and doughnuts.
   “Marvin, I have a favor to ask,” Jack said.
   “What’s that?” Marvin asked, washing down a mouthful with a gulp of his coffee.
   “I don’t want you to tell anyone about this,” Jack said. “It’s personal.”
   “Yeah?” Marvin questioned. His eyes opened wider than usual. He was interested.
   “I need a ride up to New York Hospital,” Jack said. “Could you take me in one of the mortuary vans?”
   “I’m not supposed to drive—” Marvin began.
   “There’s a good reason,” Jack said, interrupting Marvin. “I’m trying to duck a girlfriend, and I’m afraid she’s outside. I’m sure a good-looking guy like you has had similar problems.”
   Marvin laughed. “I suppose,” he said.
   “It will only take a second,” Jack said. “We shoot up First and cut over to York. You’ll be back here in a flash, and here’s a ten-spot for your trouble.” Jack laid a ten-dollar bill on the desk.
   Marvin eyed the bill and looked up at Jack. “When do you want to go?”
   “Right now,” Jack said.
   Jack climbed into the passenger-side door of the van and then stepped back into the van’s cargo area. He held on to whatever handhold he could find while Marvin backed out onto Thirtieth Street. As they waited for the light at the corner of First Avenue, Jack made sure he stayed well out of sight.
   Despite the traffic they made good time to New York Hospital. Marvin dropped Jack off at the busy front entrance, and Jack immediately went inside. Within the lobby he stood off to the side for five minutes. When no one even vaguely suspicious entered, Jack headed for the emergency room.
   Having been in the hospital on multiple occasions, Jack had no trouble finding his way. Once in the emergency room he stepped out on the receiving dock and waited for a cab to bring in a patient. He didn’t have to wait long.
   As soon as the patient got out of the cab, Jack got in. He told the cabdriver to take him to the Third Avenue entrance of Bloomingdale’s.
   Bloomingdale’s was as crowded as Jack assumed it would be. Jack rapidly traversed the store’s main floor, emerging on Lexington where he caught a second cab. He had this taxi drop him off a block away from Positano.
   To be a hundred percent certain he was safe, Jack stood within the entrance of a shoe store for another five minutes. The vehicular traffic on Madison Avenue was moderate, as was the number of pedestrians. In contrast to the area around the morgue, everyone was dressed nattily. Jack saw no one he would have thought was a gang member.
   Feeling confident and patting himself on the back for his ingenuity, Jack set out for the restaurant. What he didn’t know was that two men sat waiting inside a shiny black Cadillac that had recently parked between the shoe store and Positano. As Jack walked past he couldn’t see inside because the windows were tinted dark enough to make them appear like mirrors.
   Jack opened the door to the restaurant and entered a canvas tent of sorts designed to keep the winter chill away from the people seated near the entrance.
   Pulling a canvas flap aside, Jack found himself in a warm, comfortable environment. To his left was a small mahogany bar. The dining tables were grouped to the right and they extended back into the depths of the restaurant. The walls and ceiling were covered with white lattice into which was woven silk ivy that looked astonishingly real. It was as if Jack had suddenly walked into a garden restaurant in Italy.
   From the savory aroma that informed the place, Jack could tell that the chef had the same respect for garlic that he had. Earlier Jack had felt he wasn’t hungry. Now he was famished.
   The restaurant was crowded but without the frenzied atmosphere of many New York restaurants. With the lattice on the ceiling the sounds of the patrons’ conversations and the clink of the china were muted. Jack assumed that the peacefulness of the place was what Terese had meant when she said it was un-New-Yorkish.
   The maître d’ greeted Jack and asked if he could be of assistance. Jack said he was to meet a Ms. Hagen. The waiter bowed and gestured for Jack to follow him. He showed Jack to a table against the wall just beyond the bar.
   Terese rose to give Jack a hug. When she saw his face, she paused.
   “Oh, my!” she said. “Your face looks painful.”
   “People have been saying that my whole life,” Jack quipped.
   “Jack, please,” Terese said. “Don’t joke. I’m being serious. Are you really okay?”
   “To tell you the honest truth,” Jack said. “I’d totally forgotten about my face.”
   “It looks like it would be so tender,” Terese said. “I’d like to give you a kiss, but I’m afraid.”
   “Nothing wrong with my lips,” Jack said.
   Terese shook her head, smiled, and waved her hand at him. “You are too much,” she said. “I considered myself adept at repartee until I met you.”
   They sat down.
   “What do you think of the restaurant?” Terese asked as she repositioned her napkin and moved her work aside.
   “I liked it immediately,” Jack said. “It’s cozy, and you can’t say that about too many restaurants in this city. I never would have known it was here. The sign outside is so subtle.”
   “It’s one of my favorite places,” Terese said.
   “Thanks for insisting I come out,” Jack said. “I hate to admit you were right, but you were. I’m starved.”
   Over the next fifteen minutes they studied their respective menus, listened to a remarkably long list of special entrées from their waiter, and placed their orders.
   “How about some wine?” Terese asked.
   “Why not,” Jack said.
   “Do you want to pick?” Terese asked, extending the wine list in his direction.
   “I have a suspicion that you’ll know better than I what to order,” Jack said.
   “Red or white?” Terese asked.
   “I can go either way,” Jack said.
   With the wine opened and two glasses poured, both Terese and Jack leaned back and tried to relax. Both were tense. In fact, Jack wondered if Terese wasn’t more tense than he. He caught her furtively glancing at her watch.
   “I saw that,” Jack said.
   “Saw what?” Terese asked innocently.
   “I saw you looking at your watch,” Jack said. “I thought we were supposed to be relaxing. That’s why I’ve been purposefully avoiding asking about your day or telling you about mine.”
   “I’m sorry,” Terese said. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing it. It’s just reflex. I know Colleen and the crew are still in the studio working, and I suppose I feel guilty being out here enjoying myself.”
   “Should I ask how the campaign is going?” Jack asked.
   “It’s going fine,” Terese said. “In fact, I got nervous today and called my contact over at National Health and had lunch with her. When I told her about the new campaign she was so excited she begged me to allow her to leak it to her CEO. She called back this afternoon to say that he liked it so much that he’s thinking of upping the advertising budget by another twenty percent.”
   Jack made a mental calculation of what a twenty percent increase meant. It was millions, and it made him ill since he knew the money would essentially be coming from patient-care funds. But not wishing to spoil their evening, he did not let Terese know his thoughts. Instead, he congratulated her.
   “Thank you,” she said.
   “It hardly sounds like you had a bad day,” Jack commented.
   “Well, hearing that the client likes the concept is just the beginning,” Terese said. “Now there is the reality of actually putting the presentation together and then actually doing the campaign itself. You have no idea of the problems that arise making a thirty-second TV spot.”
   Terese took a sip of her wine. As she set her glass back on the table she again glanced at her watch.
   “Terese!” Jack said with mock anger. “You did it again!”
   “You’re right!” Terese said, slapping a hand to her forehead. “What am I going to do with myself. I’m an impossible workaholic. I admit it. But wait! I do know what I can do. I can take the damn thing off!” She unbuckled her wristwatch and slipped it into her purse. “How’s that?” she asked.
   “Much better,” Jack said.

   “The trouble is this dude is probably thinking he’s some kind of superman or something,” Twin said. “He’s probably saying those brothers don’t know what the hell they are doing. I mean, it’s all pissing me off. You know what I’m saying?”
   “So why don’t you do this yourself?” Phil asked. “Why me?” Dots of perspiration stood out like cabochon diamonds along his hairline.
   Twin was draped over the steering wheel of his Cadillac. Slowly he turned his head to regard his heir apparent in the half-light of the car’s interior. Headlights of the passing vehicles alternately illuminated Phil’s face.
   “Be cool,” Twin warned. “You know I can’t walk in there. The doc would recognize me right off and the game would be over. The element of surprise is important.”
   “But I was there in the doc’s apartment too,” Phil complained.
   “But the mother wasn’t looking you in the eye,” Twin said. “Nor did you tag him with a sucker punch. He won’t remember you. Trust me.”
   “But why me,” Phil whined. “BJ wanted to do it, especially after things got screwed up in the drugstore. He wants another chance.”
   “After the drugstore the doc might recognize BJ,” Twin said. “Besides, it’s an opportunity for you. Some of the brothers have been complaining that you’ve never done anything like this and that you shouldn’t be next in line in the gang. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
   “But I’m not good at this stuff,” Phil complained. “I’ve never shot anyone.”
   “Hey, it’s easy,” Twin said. “First time maybe you wonder, but it’s easy. Pop! It’s over. In a way it’s kinda a letdown, because you get yourself all keyed up.”
   “I’m keyed up, all right,” Phil admitted.
   “Relax, kid,” Twin said. “All you have to do is walk in there and not say a word to anyone. Keep the gun in your pocket and don’t take it out until you are standing right in front of the doc. Then draw it out and pop! Then get your black ass outta there and away we go. It’s that easy.”
   “What if the doc runs?” Phil asked.
   “He won’t run,” Twin said. “He’ll be so surprised he won’t lift a finger. If a dude thinks he might be knocked off he has a chance, but if it comes out of the blue like a sucker punch, there’s no way. Nobody moves. I’ve seen it done ten times.”
   “I’m nervous, though,” Phil admitted.
   “Okay, so you’re a little nervous,” Twin said. “Let me look at you.” Twin reached over and pushed Phil’s shoulder back. “How’s your tie?”
   Phil reached up and felt the knot in his tie. “I think it’s okay,” he said.
   “You look great,” Twin said. “Looks like you’re on your way to church, man. You look like a damn banker or lawyer.” Twin laughed and slapped Phil repeatedly on the back.
   Phil winced as he absorbed the blows. He hated this. It was the worst thing he’d ever done, and he wondered if it was worth it. Yet at this point he knew he didn’t have much choice. It was like going on the roller coaster and clanking up that first hill.
   “Okay, man, it’s time to blow the mother away,” Twin said. He gave Phil a final pat, then reached in front of him to open the passenger-side door.
   Phil got out onto rubbery legs.
   “Phil,” Twin called.
   Phil bent down and looked into the car.
   “Remember,” Twin said. “Thirty seconds from the time you go in the door, I’ll be pulling up to the restaurant. You get out of there fast and into the car. Got it?”
   “I guess so,” Phil said.
   Phil straightened up and began walking toward the restaurant. He could feel the pistol bumping up against his thigh. He had it in his right hip pocket.

   When Jack had first met Terese he’d had the impression that she was so goal oriented, she’d be incapable of small talk. But he had to admit he’d been wrong. When he’d started to tease her unmercifully about her inability to leave her work behind, she’d not only borne the brunt of the gibes with equanimity but had been able to dish out as good as he gave. By their second glasses of wine they had each other laughing heartily.
   “I certainly didn’t think I’d be laughing like this earlier today,” Jack said.
   “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Terese said.
   “And indeed you should,” Jack said.
   “Excuse me,” Terese said as she folded her napkin. “I imagine our entrées will be out momentarily. If you don’t mind, I’d like to use the ladies’ room before they get here.”
   “By all means,” Jack said. He grasped the edge of the table and pulled it toward him to give Terese more room to get out. There was not much space between tables.
   “I’ll be right back,” Terese said. She gave Jack’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t go away,” she teased.
   Jack watched her approach the maître d’, who listened to her and then pointed toward the rear of the restaurant. Jack continued to watch her as she gracefully weaved her way down the length of the room. As usual, she was wearing a simple, tailored suit that limned her slim, athletic body. It wasn’t hard for Jack to imagine that she approached physical exercise with the same dogged determination she devoted to her career.
   When Terese disappeared from view Jack turned his attention back to the table. He picked up his wine and took a sip. Someplace he’d read that red wine was capable of killing viruses. That thought made him think of something he hadn’t considered but perhaps should have. He’d been exposed to influenza, and while he felt confident given the measures he was taking regarding his health, he certainly didn’t want to expose anyone else to it, particularly not Terese.
   Thinking about the possibility, Jack reasoned that since he didn’t have any symptoms, he could not be manufacturing virus. Therefore, he could not be infective. At least he hoped that to be the case. Thinking of influenza reminded him of his rimantadine. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the plastic vial, extracted one of the orange tablets, and took it with a swallow of water.
   After putting the drug away, Jack let his eyes roam around the restaurant. He was impressed that every table was occupied, yet the waiters seemed to maintain a leisurely pace. Jack attributed it to good planning and training.
   Looking to the right, Jack saw that there were a few couples and single men having drinks at the bar, possibly waiting for tables. Just then, he noticed that the canvas curtain at the entrance was thrown aside as a smartly dressed, young, African-American man stepped into the restaurant.
   Jack wasn’t sure why the individual caught his attention. At first he thought it might have been because the man was tall and thin; he reminded Jack of several of the men he played ball with. But whatever the reason was, Jack continued to watch the man as he hesitated at the door, then began to walk down the central aisle, apparently searching for friends.
   The gait wasn’t the high-stepping, springy, jaunty playground walk. It was more of a shuffle, as if the man were carrying a load on his back. His right hand was thrust into his trouser pocket while his left hung down stiffly at his side. Jack couldn’t help but notice the left arm didn’t swing. It was as if it were a prosthesis instead of a real arm.
   Captivated by the individual, Jack watched as the man’s head swung from side to side. The man had advanced twenty feet when the maître d’ intercepted him, and they had a conversation.
   The conversation was short. The maître d’ bowed and gestured into the restaurant. The man started forward once again, continuing his search.
   Jack lifted his wineglass to his lips and took a sip. As he did so the man’s eyes locked onto his. To Jack’s surprise the man headed directly for him. Jack slowly put his wineglass down. The man came up to the table.
   As if in a dream Jack saw the man start to raise his right hand. In it was a gun. Before Jack could even take a breath the barrel was aimed straight at him.
   Within the confines of the narrow restaurant the sound of a pistol seemed deafening. By reflex Jack’s hands had grasped the tablecloth and pulled it toward him as if he could hide behind it. In the process he knocked the wineglasses and the wine bottle to the floor, where they shattered.
   The concussion of the gunshot and the shattering of glass was followed by stunned silence. A moment later, the body fell forward onto the table. The gun clattered to the floor.
   “Police,” a voice called out. A man rushed to the center of the room, holding a police badge aloft. In his other hand he held a.38 detective special. “No one move. Do not panic!”
   With a sense of disgust Jack pushed the table away. It was pinning him against the wall. When he did so the man rolled off the side and fell heavily to the floor.
   The policeman holstered his gun and pocketed his badge before quickly kneeling at the side of the body. He felt for a pulse, then barked an order for someone to call 911 for an ambulance.
   Only then did the restaurant erupt with screams and sobs. Terrified diners began to stand up. A few in the front of the restaurant fled out the door.
   “Stay in your seats,” the policeman commanded to those remaining. “Everything is under control.”
   Some people followed his orders and sat. Others stood immobilized, their eyes wide.
   Having regained a semblance of composure, Jack squatted beside the policeman.
   “I’m a doctor,” Jack said.
   “Yeah, I know,” the policeman said. “Give a check. I’m afraid he’s a goner.”
   Jack felt for a pulse while wondering how the policeman knew he was a doctor. There was no pulse.
   “I didn’t have a lot of choice,” the policeman said defensively. “It happened so fast and with so many people around, I shot him in the left side of his chest. I must have hit the heart.”
   Jack and the policeman stood up.
   The policeman looked Jack up and down. “Are you all right?” he asked.
   In shocked disbelief, Jack examined himself. He could have been shot without having felt it. “I guess so,” he said.
   The policeman shook his head. “That was a close one,” he said. “I never expected anything to happen to you in here.”
   “What do you mean?” Jack asked.
   “If there was to be trouble, I expected it to be after you left the restaurant,” the policeman said.
   “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jack said. “But I’m awfully glad you happened to be here.”
   “Don’t thank me,” the policeman said. “Thank Lou Soldano.”
   Terese came out of the rest room, confused as to what was going on. She hurried back to the table. When she saw the body her hands flew to her face to cover her mouth. Aghast, she looked at Jack.
   “What happened?” she asked. “You’re as white as a ghost.”
   “At least I’m alive,” Jack said. “Thanks to this policeman.”
   In confusion Terese turned to the policeman for an explanation, but the sound of multiple sirens could be heard converging on the restaurant, and the policeman began moving people out of the way and urging them to sit down.

30. Tuesday, 8:45 p.m., March 26, 1996

   Jack looked out the window of the speeding car and watched the night-time scenery flash by with unseeing eyes. Jack was in the front passenger seat of Shawn Magoginal’s unmarked car as it cruised south on the FDR Drive. Shawn was the plainclothes policeman who had mysteriously materialized at the crucial moment to save Jack from sure death.
   Over an hour had passed since the event, but Jack was no more relaxed. In fact, now that he’d had time to think about this third attempt on his life he was more agitated than right after the event. He was literally shaking. In an attempt to hide this belated reaction from Shawn he clutched both hands to his knees.
   Earlier, when the police cars and the ambulance had arrived at the restaurant, chaos had reigned. The police wanted everyone’s names and addresses. Some people balked, others complied willingly. At first Jack had assumed he’d be treated similarly, but then Shawn had informed him that Detective Lieutenant Lou Soldano wanted to talk with him at police headquarters.
   Jack had not wanted to go, but he’d been given no choice. Terese had insisted on coming along, but Jack had talked her out of it. She’d only relented once he’d promised to call her later. She’d told him that she’d be at the agency. After such an experience she didn’t want to be alone.
   Jack ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. A combination of the wine and tension had made it as dry as the inside of a sock. He didn’t want to go to police headquarters for fear they might detain him. He’d failed to report Reginald’s murder and he’d been at the scene of the drugstore homicide. To top it off, he’d said enough to Laurie to indicate a potential link between Reginald and Beth’s murder.
   Jack sighed and ran a worried hand through his hair. He wondered how he’d respond to the inevitable questions he’d be asked.
   “You okay?” Shawn questioned. He glanced at Jack, sensing his anxiety.
   “Yeah, fine,” Jack said. “It’s been a wonderful evening in New York. It’s a city where you can never get bored.”
   “That’s a positive way to look at it,” Shawn agreed.
   Jack shot a look at the policeman, who seemed to have taken his comment literally.
   “I have a couple of questions,” Jack said. “How the hell did you happen to be there at the restaurant? And how did you know I was a doctor? And how is it that I have Lou Soldano to thank?”
   “Lieutenant Soldano got a tip you might be in danger,” Shawn said.
   “How’d you know I was at the restaurant?” Jack asked.
   “Simple,” Shawn said. “Sergeant Murphy and I tailed you from the morgue.”
   Jack again looked out at the dark city as it sped by and shook his head imperceptibly. He was embarrassed for having thought he’d been so clever to ensure he’d not been followed. It was painfully obvious that he was out of his league.
   “You almost gave us the slip at Bloomie’s,” Shawn said. “But I guessed what you were up to by then.”
   Jack turned back to the detective. “Who gave Lieutenant Soldano the tip?” he asked. He assumed it had to have been Laurie.
   “That I don’t know,” Shawn said. “But you’ll soon be able to ask him yourself.”
   The FDR Drive imperceptibly became the South Street Viaduct. Ahead Jack could see the familiar silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge come into view. Against the pale night sky it looked like a gigantic lyre.
   They turned off the freeway just north of the bridge and were soon pulling into police headquarters.
   Jack had never seen the building and was surprised by its modernity. Inside he had to pass through a metal detector. Shawn accompanied him to Lou Soldano’s office, then took his leave.
   Lou stood up and offered his hand, then pulled over a straight-backed chair. “Sit down, Doc,” Lou said. “This is Sergeant Wilson.” Lou gestured toward a uniformed African-American police officer who got to his feet as he was introduced. He was a striking man, and his uniform was impeccably pressed. His well-groomed appearance stood in sharp contrast to Lou’s rumpled attire.
   Jack shook hands with the sergeant and was impressed with the man’s grip. In contrast Jack was ashamed of his own trembling, damp palm.
   “I asked Sergeant Wilson down because he’s heading up our Anti-Gang Violence Unit in Special Ops,” Lou said as he returned to his desk and sat down.
   Oh, wonderful, Jack thought, concerned that this meeting might get back to Warren. Jack tried to smile, but it was hesitant and fake; he was afraid his nervousness was all too transparent. Jack worried that both these experienced law-enforcement people could tell he was a felon the moment he walked through the door.
   “I understand you had a bad experience tonight,” Lou said.
   “That’s an understatement,” Jack said. He regarded Lou. The man was not what he’d expected. After Laurie had said that she’d been involved with him, Jack had assumed he’d be more physically imposing: taller and more stylish. Instead, Jack thought he was a shorter version of himself considering his stocky, muscular frame and close-cropped hair.
   “Can I ask you a question?” Jack asked.
   “By all means,” Lou said, spreading his hands. “This isn’t an inquisition. It’s a discussion.”
   “What made you have Officer Magoginal follow me?” Jack asked. “Mind you, I’m not complaining. He saved my life.”
   “You have Dr. Laurie Montgomery to thank for that,” Lou said. “She was worried about you and made me promise that I would do something. Putting a tail on you was the only thing I could think of.”
   “I’m certainly appreciative,” Jack said. He wondered what he could say to Laurie to thank her.
   “Now, Doc, there’s a lot going on here that we’d like to know about,” Lou said. He steepled his hands with his elbows on his desk. “Maybe you should just tell us what’s happening.”
   “I truly don’t know yet,” Jack said.
   “Okay, fair enough,” Lou said. “But, Doc, remember! You can relax! Again, this is a discussion.”
   “As shaken up as I am, I’m not sure I’m capable of much of a conversation.”
   “Maybe I should let you know what I know already,” Lou said. Lou quickly outlined what Laurie had told him. He emphasized that he knew that Jack had been beaten up at least once and now had had an attempt on his life made by a member of a Lower East Side gang. Lou mentioned Jack’s dislike of AmeriCare and his tendency to see conspiracy in the recent series of outbreaks of infectious disease at the Manhattan General. He also mentioned that Jack had apparently irritated a number of people at that hospital. He concluded with Jack’s suggestion to Laurie that two apparently unrelated homicides might be linked and that preliminary tests had substantiated this surprising theory.
   Jack visibly swallowed. “Wow,” he said. “I’m beginning to think you know more than I do.”
   “I’m sure that’s not the case,” Lou said with a wry smile. “But maybe all this information gives you a sense of what else we need to know to prevent any more violence to you and others. There was another gang-related killing in the vicinity of the General this afternoon. Is that anything you know about?”
   Jack swallowed again. He didn’t know what to say. Warren’s admonition reverberated in his mind, as did his fleeing from two crime scenes and abetting a murderer. He was, after all, a felon.
   “I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Jack said.
   “Oh?” Lou questioned. “And why is that, Doc?”
   Jack’s mind raced for answers, and he was loath to lie. “I guess because I’m concerned about certain people’s safety,” he said.
   “That’s what we are here for,” Lou said. “People’s safety.”
   “I understand that,” Jack said. “But this is a rather unique situation. There are a lot of things going on. I’m worried we might be on the brink of a real epidemic.”
   “Of what?” Lou asked.
   “Influenza,” Jack said. “A type of influenza with a high morbidity.”
   “Have there been a lot of cases?” Lou asked.
   “Not a lot so far,” Jack said. “But I’m worried nonetheless.”
   “Epidemics scare me, but they are out of my area of expertise,” Lou said. “But homicide isn’t. When do you think you might be willing to talk about these murders we’ve been discussing if you’re not inclined at the moment?”
   “Give me a day,” Jack said. “This epidemic scare is real. Trust me.”
   “Hmmmm…” Lou voiced. He looked at Sergeant Wilson.
   “A lot can happen in a day,” the sergeant said.
   “That’s my concern too,” Lou said. He redirected his attention to Jack. “What worries us is that the two gang members who’ve been killed were from different gangs. We don’t want to see a gang war erupt around here. Whenever they do, a lot of innocent people get killed.”
   “I need twenty-four hours,” Jack repeated. “By then I hope to be able to prove what I’m trying to prove. If I can’t, I’ll admit I was wrong, and I’ll tell you everything I know, which, by the way, is not much.”
   “Listen, Doc,” Lou said. “I could arrest you right now and charge you with accessory after the fact. You are willfully obstructing the investigation of several homicides. I mean, you do understand the reality of what you are doing, don’t you?”
   “I think I do,” Jack said.
   “I could charge you, but I’m not going to do that,” Lou said. He sat back in his chair. “Instead I’m going to bow to your judgment concerning this epidemic stuff. In deference to Dr. Montgomery, who seems to think you are a good guy, I’ll be patient about my area of expertise. But I want to hear from you tomorrow night. Understand?”
   “I understand,” Jack said. Jack looked from the lieutenant to the sergeant and then back. “Is that it?”
   “For now,” Lou said.
   Jack got up and headed for the door. Before he reached it, Sergeant Wilson spoke up: “I hope you understand how dangerous dealing with these gangs is. They feel they have little to lose and consequently have little respect for life, either their own or others’.”
   “I’ll keep that in mind,” Jack said.
   Jack hurried from the building. As he emerged into the night he felt enormous relief, as if he’d been granted a reprieve.
   While he waited for a taxi to appear in Park Row in front of the police headquarters, he thought about what he should do. He was afraid to go home. At the moment he didn’t want to see the Black Kings or Warren. He thought about going back to see Terese, but he feared endangering her more than he already had.
   With few alternatives Jack decided to find a cheap hotel. At least he’d be safe and so would his friends.

31. Wednesday, 6:15 a.m., March 27, 1996

   The first symptom Jack noticed was a sudden rash that appeared on his forearms. As he was examining it, the rash spread quickly to his chest and abdomen. With his index fingers he spread the skin at the site of one of the blotches to see if it would blanch with pressure. Not only did it not blanch, the pressure deepened the color.
   Then, as quickly as the skin eruption appeared, it began to itch. At first Jack tried to ignore the sensation, but it increased in intensity to the point where he had to scratch. When he did, the rash began to bleed. Each blotch was transformed into an open sore.
   With the bleeding and the sores came a fever. It started to rise slowly, but once it got past a hundred degrees, it shot up. Soon Jack’s forehead was awash with perspiration.
   When he looked at himself in the mirror and saw his face flushed and spotted with open sores, he was horrified. A few minutes later he began to experience difficulty breathing. Even with deep breaths he was gasping for air.
   Then Jack’s head began to pound like a drum with each beat of his heart. He had no idea what he’d contracted, but its seriousness was all too obvious. Intuitively Jack knew he had only moments to make the diagnosis and determine treatment.
   But there was a problem. To make the diagnosis he needed a blood sample, but he had no needle. Perhaps he could get a sample with a knife. It would be messy, but it might work. Where could he find a knife?
   Jack’s eyes blinked open. For a second he frantically searched the nightstand for a knife, but then he stopped. He was disoriented. A deep clang sounded again and again. Jack could not place it. He lifted his arm to look at his rash, but it had disappeared. Only then did Jack realize where he was and that he’d been dreaming.
   Jack estimated the temperature in the hotel room to be ninety degrees. With disgust he kicked off the blankets. He was drenched in sweat. Sitting up, he put his legs over the side of the bed. The clanging noise was coming from the radiator, which was also steaming and sputtering. It sounded like someone was striking the riser with a sledgehammer.
   Jack went to the window and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. It was as if it had been nailed shut. Giving up, he went to the radiator. It was so hot he couldn’t touch the valve. He got a towel from the bathroom, but then found the valve was stuck in the open position.
   In the bathroom Jack was able to open a frosted window. A refreshing breeze blew in. For a few minutes he didn’t move. The cool tiles felt good on his feet. He leaned on the sink and recoiled at the remembrance of his nightmare. It had been so frighteningly real. He even looked at his arms and abdomen again to make sure he didn’t have a rash. Thankfully, he didn’t. But he still had a headache, which he assumed was from being overheated. He wondered why he hadn’t awakened sooner.
   Looking into the mirror, he noticed that his eyes were red. He was also in dire need of a shave. He hoped that there was a sundry shop in the lobby, because he had no toilet articles with him.
   Jack returned to the bedroom. The radiator was now silent and the room temperature had dropped to a tolerable level, with cool air flowing in from the bathroom.
   Jack began to dress so he could go downstairs. As he did so he recalled the events of the previous evening. The image of the gun barrel came back to his mind’s eye with terrifying clarity. He shuddered. Another fraction of a second and he would have been gone.
   Three times in twenty-four hours Jack had come close to death. Each episode made him realize how much he wanted to live. For the first time he began to wonder if his response to his grief for his wife and daughters—his reckless behavior—might be a disservice to their memory.
   Down in the seedy lobby Jack was able to purchase a disposable razor and a miniature tube of toothpaste with a toothbrush attached. As he waited for the elevator to return to his room he caught sight of a bound stack of the Daily News outside of an unopened newsstand. Above the lurid headlines was: “Morgue Doc Nearly Winds Up on the Slab in Trendy Restaurant Shoot-out! See page three.”
   Jack set down his purchases and tried to tease out a copy of the paper, but he couldn’t. The securing band was too tough to snap.
   Returning to the front desk, he managed to convince the morose night receptionist to come out from behind his desk and cut the band with a razor blade. Jack paid for the paper and saw the receptionist pocket the money.
   On the way up in the elevator Jack was shocked to see a picture of himself on page three coming out of the Positano restaurant with Shawn Magoginal holding his upper arm. Jack couldn’t remember a picture being taken. The caption read: “Dr. Jack Stapleton, a NYC medical examiner, being led by plainclothes detective Shawn Magoginal from the scene of the doctor’s attempted assassination. A NYC gang member was killed in the incident.”
   Jack read the article. It wasn’t long; he was finished before he got back to his room. Somehow the writer had learned that Jack had had run-ins with the same gang in the past. There was an unmistakably scandalous implication. He tossed the paper aside. He was disgusted at the unexpected exposure and was concerned it could hinder his cause. He expected to have a busy day, and he didn’t want interference resulting from this unwanted notoriety.
   Jack showered, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He felt a world of difference from when he’d awakened, but he did not feel up to par. He still had a headache and the muscles of his legs were sore. So was his lower back. He couldn’t help but worry that he was having early symptoms of the flu. He didn’t have to remind himself to take his rimantadine.
   When Jack arrived at the medical examiner’s office, he had the taxi drop him off at the morgue receiving bay to avoid any members of the press who might be lying in wait.
   Jack headed directly upstairs to scheduling. He was worried about what had come in during the night. As he stepped into the room, Vinnie lowered his newspaper.
   “Hey, Doc,” Vinnie said. “Guess what? You’re in the morning paper.”
   Jack ignored him and went over to where George was working.
   “Aren’t you interested?” Vinnie called out. “There’s even a picture!”
   “I’ve seen it,” Jack said. “It’s not my best side.”
   “Tell me what happened,” Vinnie demanded. “Heck, this is like a movie or something. Why’d this guy want to shoot you?”
   “It was a case of mistaken identity,” Jack said.
   “Aw, no!” Vinnie said. He was disappointed. “You mean he thought you were someone else?”
   “Something like that,” Jack said. Then, addressing George, he asked if there had been any more influenza deaths.
   “Did someone actually fire a gun at you?” George asked, ignoring Jack’s question. He was as interested as Vinnie. Other people’s disasters hold universal appeal.
   “Forty or fifty times,” Jack said. “But luckily it was one of those guns that shoots Ping-Pong balls. Those I wasn’t able to duck bounced off harmlessly.”
   “I guess you don’t want to talk about it,” George said.
   “That’s perceptive of you, George,” Jack said. “Now, have any influenza deaths come in?”
   “Four,” George said.
   Jack’s pulse quickened.
   “Where are they?” Jack asked.
   George tapped one of his stacks. “I’d assign a couple of them to you, but Calvin already called to tell me he wants you to have another paper day. I think he saw the newspaper too. In fact, he didn’t even know if you’d be coming in to work today.”
   Jack didn’t respond. With as much as he had to do that day, having another paper day was probably a godsend. Jack opened the charts quickly to read the names. Although he could have guessed their identities, it was still a shock. Kim Spensor, George Haselton, Gloria Hernandez, and a William Pearson, the evening lab tech, had all passed away during the night with acute respiratory distress syndrome. The worry that the influenza strain was virulent was no longer a question; it was now a fact. These victims had all been healthy, young adults who’d died within twenty-four-plus hours of exposure.
   All of Jack’s anxiety came back in a rush. His fear of a major epidemic soared. His only hope was that if he was right about the humidifier being the source, all of these cases represented index cases in that all had been exposed to the infected humidifier. Hence, none of these deaths represented person-to-person transfer, the key element for the kind of epidemic he feared.
   Jack rushed from the room, ignoring more questions from Vinnie. Jack didn’t know what he should do first. From what had happened with the plague episode, he thought he should wait to talk to Bingham and have Bingham call the city and state authorities. Yet now that Jack’s worry about a potential epidemic had increased, he hated to let any time pass.
   “Dr. Stapleton, you’ve had a lot of calls,” Marjorie Zankowski said. Marjorie was the night communications operator. “Some left messages on your voice mail, but here’s a list. I was going to take them up to your office, but since you are here…” She pushed a stack of pink phone messages toward Jack. Jack snatched them up and continued on.
   He scanned the list as he went up in the elevator. Terese had called several times, the last time being four o’clock in the morning. The fact that she’d called so many times gave Jack a stab of guilt. He should have called her from the hotel, but in truth he hadn’t felt like talking with anyone.
   To his surprise there were also messages from Clint Abelard and Mary Zimmerman. His first thought was that Kathy McBane might have told them everything he’d said. If she had, then Clint’s and Mary’s messages might be of the unpleasant sort. They had called one after the other just after six A.M.
   Most intriguing and worrisome of all the calls were two from Nicole Marquette from the CDC. One was around midnight, the other at five forty-five.
   Rushing into his office, Jack stripped off his coat, plopped himself at his desk, and returned Nicole’s call. When he got her on the line, she sounded exhausted.
   “It’s been a long night,” she admitted. “I tried to call you many times both at work and at home.”
   “I apologize,” Jack said. “I should have called to give you an alternate number.”
   “One of the times I called your apartment the phone was answered by an individual called Warren,” Nicole said. “I hope he’s an acquaintance. He didn’t sound all that friendly.”
   “He’s a friend,” Jack said, but the news disturbed him. Facing Warren was not going to be easy.
   “Well, I don’t know quite where to begin,” Nicole said. “One thing I can assure you is that you’ve caused a lot of people to lose a night’s sleep. The sample of influenza you sent has ignited a fire down here. We ran it against our battery of antisera to all known reference strains. It didn’t react with any one of them to any significant degree. In other words, it had to be a strain that was either entirely new or had not been seen for as many years as we’ve been keeping antisera.”
   “That’s not good news, is it?” Jack said.
   “Hardly,” Nicole said. “It was very scary news, particularly in light of the strain’s pathogenicity. We understand there now have been five deaths.”
   “How did you know?” Jack asked. “I just found out myself there’d been four more victims last night.”
   “We’ve already been in contact with the state and local authorities during the night,” Nicole said. “That was one of the reasons I tried so hard to get ahold of you. We consider this to be an epidemiological emergency; I didn’t want you to feel you were out of the loop. You see, we did finally find something that reacted with the virus. It was a sample of frozen sera we have that we suspect contains antisera to the influenza strain that caused the great epidemic in 1918 and 1919!”
   “Good God!” Jack exclaimed.
   “As soon as I discovered this, I called my immediate boss, Dr. Hirose Nakano,” Nicole said. “He, in turn, called the director of the CDC. He’s been on the phone with everyone from the Surgeon General on down. We’re mobilizing to fight a war here. We need a vaccine, and we need it fast. This is the swine-flu scare of seventy-six all over again.”
   “Is there anything I can do?” Jack asked even though he already knew the answer.
   “Not at this time,” Nicole said. “We owe you a debt of gratitude for alerting us to the problem as soon as you did. I told as much to the director. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave you a call himself.”
   “So the hospital has been notified?” Jack asked.
   “Most definitely,” Nicole said. “A CDC team will be coming up there today to assist in any way it can, including helping the local epidemiologist. Needless to say, we’d love to find out where this virus came from. One of the mysteries of influenza is where the dormant reservoirs are. Birds, particularly ducks, and pigs are suspected, but no one knows for sure. It’s astonishing, to say the least, that a strain that hasn’t been seen for some seventy-five years comes back to haunt us.”
   A few minutes later, Jack hung up the phone. He was stunned, yet also relieved to a degree. At least his warnings of a possible epidemic had been heeded, and the proper authorities mobilized. If an epidemic was to be averted, the only people who could make that happen were now involved.
   But there was still the question of where these infectious agents had come from. Jack certainly did not think it was a natural source like another animal or a bird for the influenza. He thought it was either a person or an organization, and now he could concentrate on that issue.
   Before Jack did anything else, he called Terese. He found her at home. She was extremely relieved to hear his voice.
   “What happened to you?” she asked. “I’ve been worried sick.”
   “I stayed the night in a hotel,” Jack said.
   “Why didn’t you call like you said you would?” Terese asked. “I’ve called your apartment a dozen times.”
   “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I should have called. But by the time I left the police headquarters and found a hotel, I wasn’t feeling much like talking to anyone. I can’t tell you how stressful the last twenty-four hours have been. I’m afraid I’m not myself.”
   “I suppose I understand,” Terese said. “After that horrid incident last night I’m amazed you are functioning at all today. Didn’t you consider just staying home? I think that’s what I would have done.”
   “I’m too caught up in everything that is happening,” Jack said.
   “That’s just what I was afraid of,” Terese said. “Jack, listen to me. You’ve been beat up and now almost killed. Isn’t it time to let other people take over, and you get back to your normal job?”
   “It’s already happening to an extent,” Jack said. “Officials from the Centers for Disease Control are on their way up here in force to contain this influenza outbreak. All I have to do is make it through today.”
   “What is that supposed to mean?” Terese asked.
   “If I don’t solve this mystery of mine by tonight I’m giving up on it,” Jack said. “I had to promise as much to the police.”
   “That’s music to my ears,” Terese said. “When can I see you? I have some exciting news to tell.”
   “After last night I would have thought you’d consider me dangerous to be around,” Jack said.
   “I’m assuming that once you stop this crusade of yours people will leave you alone.”
   “I’ll have to call you,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how the day is going to play out.”
   “You’d promised to call last night and didn’t,” Terese said. “How can I trust you?”
   “You’ll just have to give me another chance,” Jack said. “And now I have to get to work.”
   “Aren’t you going to ask me about my exciting news?” Terese asked.
   “I thought you’d tell me if you wanted to,” Jack said.
   “National Health canceled the internal review,” Terese said.
   “Is that good?” Jack asked.
   “Absolutely,” Terese said. “The reason they canceled it is because they are so sure they’ll like our ‘no waiting’ campaign that I leaked yesterday. So instead of having to throw the presentation together haphazardly we have a month to do it properly.”
   “That’s wonderful,” Jack said. “I’m pleased for you.”
   “And that’s not all,” Terese said. “Taylor Heath called me in to congratulate me. He also told me he’d learned what Robert Barker had tried to do, so Barker is out and I’m in. Taylor all but assured me I’ll be the next president of Willow and Heath.”
   “That calls for a celebration,” Jack said.
   “Exactly,” Terese said. “A good way to do it would be to have lunch today at the Four Seasons.”
   “You certainly are persistent,” Jack said.
   “As a career woman I have to be,” Terese said.
   “I can’t have lunch, but maybe dinner,” Jack said. “That is, unless I’m in jail.”
   “Now what does that mean?” Terese asked.
   “It would take too long to explain,” Jack said. “I’ll call you later. Bye, Terese.” Jack hung up before Terese could get in another word. As tenacious as she was, Jack had the feeling she’d keep him on the phone until she got her way.
   Jack was about to head up to the DNA lab when Laurie appeared in his doorway.
   “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” Laurie said.
   “And I have you to thank for my being here,” Jack said. “A few days ago I might have thought of you as having interfered. But not now. I appreciate whatever you said to Lieutenant Soldano, because it saved my life.”
   “He called me last night and told me what happened,” Laurie said. “I tried to call you at your apartment a number of times.”
   “You and everyone else,” Jack said. “To tell you the truth, I was scared to go home.”
   “Lou also told me he thought you were taking a lot of risks with these gangs involved,” Laurie said. “Personally, I think you should call off whatever you are doing.”
   “Well, you are siding with the majority if it is any consolation,” Jack said. “And I’m sure my mother would agree if you were to call her in South Bend, Indiana, and ask her opinion.”
   “I don’t understand how you can be flippant in light of everything that has happened,” Laurie said. “Besides, Lou wanted me to make sure you understand that he can’t protect you with twenty-four-hour security. He doesn’t have the manpower. You’re on your own.”
   “At least I’ll be working with someone I’ve spent a lot of time with,” Jack said.
   “You are impossible!” Laurie said. “When you don’t want to talk about something you hide behind your clever repartee. I think you should tell everything to Lou. Tell him about your terrorist idea and turn it over to him. Let him investigate it. He’s good at it. It’s his job.”
   “That might be,” Jack said. “But this is a unique circumstance in a lot of ways. I think it requires knowledge that Lou doesn’t have. Besides, I sense it might do a world of good for my self-confidence to follow this thing through. Whether it’s obvious or not, my ego has taken a beating over the last five years.”
   “You are a mystery man,” Laurie said. “Also stubborn, and I don’t know enough about you to know when you are joking and when you are serious. Just promise to be more careful than you’ve been the last few days.”
   “I’ll make you a deal,” Jack said. “I’ll promise if you agree to take rimantadine.”
   “I did notice there were more influenza deaths downstairs,” Laurie said. “You think it warrants rimantadine?”
   “Absolutely,” Jack said. “The CDC is taking this outbreak very seriously, and you should as well. In fact, they think it might be the same strain that caused the disastrous influenza outbreak in 1918. I’ve started rimantadine myself.”
   “How could it be the same strain?” Laurie asked. “That strain doesn’t exist.”
   “Influenza has a way of hiding out,” Jack said. “It’s one of the things that has the CDC so interested.”
   “Well, if that were the case, it sure shoots holes in your terrorist theory,” Laurie said. “There’s no way for someone to deliberately spread something that doesn’t exist outside of some unknown natural reservoir.”
   Jack stared at Laurie for a minute. She was right, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it.
   “I don’t mean to rain on your parade,” Laurie said.
   “That’s okay,” Jack said, preoccupied. He was busy wondering if the influenza episode could be a natural phenomenon, while the other outbreaks were intentional. The problem with that line of thinking was that it violated a cardinal rule in medical diagnostics: single explanations are sought even for seemingly disparate events.
   “Nevertheless, the influenza threat is obviously real,” Laurie said. “So I’ll take the drug, but to make sure you hold up your side of the bargain, I want you to keep in touch with me. I noticed that Calvin took you off autopsy, so if you leave the office you have to call me at regular intervals.”
   “Maybe you’ve been talking to my mother after all,” Jack said. “Sounds remarkably like the orders she gave me during my first week at college.”
   “Take it or leave it,” Laurie said.
   “I’ll take it,” Jack said.

  After Laurie left, Jack headed to the DNA lab to seek out Ted Lynch. Jack was glad to get out of his office. Despite the good intentions involved he was tiring of people giving him advice and he was afraid Chet would soon be arriving. Undoubtedly he’d voice the same concerns just expressed by Laurie.
   As Jack mounted the stairs he thought more about Laurie’s point concerning the influenza’s source. He couldn’t believe he’d not thought of it himself, and it undermined his confidence. It also underlined how much he was depending on a positive result with the probe National Biologicals had sent. If they were all negative he’d have scant hope of proving his theory. All he’d have left would be the improbable cultures he’d hoped Kathy McBane had obtained from the sink trap in central supply.
   The moment Ted Lynch caught sight of Jack approaching, he pretended to hide behind his lab bench.
   “Shucks, you found me,” Ted joked when Jack came around the end of the counter. “I was hoping not to see you until the afternoon.”
   “It’s your unlucky day,” Jack said. “I’m not even on autopsy, so I’ve decided to camp out here in your lab. I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to run my probes…”
   “Actually, I stayed late last night and even came in early to prepare the nucleoproteins. I’m ready to run the probes now. If you give me an hour or so, I should have some results.”
   “Did you get all four cultures?” Jack asked.
   “Sure did,” Ted said. “Agnes was on the ball as usual.”
   “I’ll be back,” Jack said.
   With some time to kill, Jack went down to the morgue and changed into his moon suit before entering the autopsy room.
   The morning routine was well under way. Six of the eight tables were in various stages of the autopsy procedure. Jack walked down the row until he recognized one of the cases. It was Gloria Hernandez. For a moment he looked at her pale face and tried to comprehend the reality of death. Having just spoken with her in her apartment the day before, it seemed an inconceivable transition.
   The autopsy was being done by Riva Mehta, Laurie’s officemate. She was a petite woman of Indian extraction who had to stand on a stool to do the procedure. At that moment she was just entering the chest.
   Jack stayed and watched. When the lungs were removed he asked to see the cut surface. It was identical to Kevin Carpenter’s from the day before, complete with pinpoint hemorrhages. There was no doubt it was a primary influenza pneumonia.
   Moving on, Jack found Chet, who was busy with the nurse, George Haselton. Jack was surprised; it was Chet’s usual modus operandi to stop into the office before doing his day’s autopsies. When Chet saw it was Jack, he seemed annoyed.
   “How come you didn’t answer your phone last night?” Chet demanded.
   “It was too long a reach,” Jack said. “I wasn’t there.”
   “Colleen called to tell me what happened,” Chet said. “I think this whole thing has gone far enough.”
   “Chet, instead of talking, how about showing me the lung,” Jack said.
   Chet showed Jack the lung. It was identical to Gloria Hernandez’s and Kevin Carpenter’s. When Chet started to talk again, Jack merely moved on.
   Jack stayed in the autopsy room until he’d seen the gross on all the influenza cases. There were no surprises. Everyone was impressed by the pathogenicity of the virus.
   Changing back into his street clothes, Jack went directly up to the DNA lab. This time Ted acted glad to see him.
   “I’m not sure what you wanted me to find,” Ted said. “But you are batting five hundred. Two of the four were positive.”
   “Just two?” Jack asked. He’d prepared himself for either all positive or all negative. Like everything else associated with these outbreaks, he was surprised.
   “If you want I can go back and fudge the results,” Ted joked. “How many do you want to be positive?”
   “I thought I was the jokester around here,” Jack said.
   “Do these results screw up some theory of yours?” Ted asked.
   “I’m not sure yet,” Jack said. “Which two were positive?”
   “The plague and the tularemia,” Ted said.
   Jack walked back to his office while he pondered this new information. By the time he was sitting down he’d decided that it didn’t make any difference how many of the cultures were positive. That fact that any of them were positive supported his theory. Unless an individual was a laboratory worker it would be hard to come in contact with an artificially propagated culture of a bacteria.
   Pulling his phone over closer to himself, Jack put in a call to National Biologicals. He asked to speak with Igor Krasnyansky, since the man had already been accommodating enough to send the probes.
   Jack reintroduced himself.
   “I remember you,” Igor said. “Did you have any luck with the probes?”
   “I did,” Jack said. “Thank you again for sending them. But now I have a few more questions.”
   “I’ll try to answer them,” Igor said.
   “Does National Biologicals also sell influenza cultures?” Jack asked.
   “Indeed,” Igor said. “Viruses are a big part of our business, including influenza. We have many strains, particularly type A.”
   “Do you have the strain that caused the epidemic in 1918?” Jack asked. He just wanted to be one hundred percent certain.
   “We wish!” Igor said with a laugh. “I’m sure that strain would be popular with researchers. No, we don’t have it, but we have some that are probably similar, like the strain of the ’76 swine-flu scare. It’s generally believed that the 1918 strain was a permutation of H1N1, but exactly what, no one knows.”
   “My next question concerns plague and tularemia,” Jack said.
   “We carry both,” Igor said.
   “I’m aware of that,” Jack said. “What I would like to know is who has ordered either of those two cultures in the last few months.”
   “I’m afraid we don’t usually give that information out,” Igor said.
   “I can understand that,” Jack said. For a moment Jack feared he would have to get Lou Soldano involved just to get the information he wanted. But then he thought he could possibly talk Igor into giving it to him. After all, Igor had been careful to say that such information wasn’t “usually” given out.
   “Perhaps you’d like to talk to our president,” Igor suggested.
   “Let me tell you why I want to know,” Jack said. “As a medical examiner I’ve seen a couple of deaths recently with these pathogens. We’d just like to know which labs we should warn. Our interest is preventing any more accidents.”
   “And the deaths were due to our cultures?” Igor asked.
   “That was why I wanted the probes,” Jack said. “We suspected as much but needed proof.”
   “Hmm,” Igor said. “I don’t know if that should make me feel more or less inclined to give out information.”
   “It’s just an issue of safety,” Jack said.
   “Well, that sounds reasonable,” Igor said. “It’s not as if it’s a secret. We share our customer lists with several equipment manufacturers. Let me see what I can find here at my workstation.”
   “To make it easier for you, narrow the field to labs in the New York metropolitan area,” Jack said.
   “Fair enough,” Igor said. Jack could hear the man typing on his keyboard. “We’ll try tularemia first. Here we go.”
   There was a pause.
   “Okay,” Igor said. “We have sent tularemia to the National Health hospital and to the Manhattan General Hospital. That’s it; at least for the last couple of months.”
   Jack sat more upright, especially knowing that National Health was the major competitor of AmeriCare. “Can you tell me when these cultures went out?”
   “I think so,” Igor said. Jack could hear more typing. “Okay, here we are. The National Health shipment went out on the twenty-second of this month, and the Manhattan General shipment went out on the fifteenth.”
   Jack’s enthusiasm waned slightly. By the twenty-second he’d already made the diagnosis of tularemia in Susanne Hard. That eliminated National Health for the time being. “Does it show who the receiver was on the Manhattan General shipment?” Jack asked. “Or was it just the lab itself?”
   “Hold on,” Igor said as he switched screens again. “It says that the consignee was a Dr. Martin Cheveau.”
   Jack’s pulse quickened. He was uncovering information that very few people would know could be discoverable. He doubted that even Martin Cheveau was aware that National Biologicals phage-typed their cultures.
   “What about plague?” Jack asked.
   “Just a moment,” Igor said while he made the proper entries.
   There was another pause. Jack could hear Igor’s breathing.
   “Okay, here it is,” Igor said. “Plague’s not a common item ordered on the East Coast outside of academic or reference labs. But there was one shipment that went out on the eighth. It went to Frazer Labs.”
   “I’ve never heard of them,” Jack said. “Do you have an address?”
   “Five-fifty Broome Street,” Igor said.
   “How about a consignee?” Jack asked as he wrote down the address.
   “Just the lab itself,” Igor said.
   “Do you do much business with them?” Jack asked.
   “I don’t know,” Igor said. He made another entry. “They send us orders now and then. It must be a small diagnostic lab. But there’s one thing strange.”
   “What’s that?” Jack asked.
   “They always pay with a cashier’s check,” Igor said. “I’ve never seen that before. It’s okay, of course, but customers usually have established credit.”
   “Is there a telephone number?” Jack asked.
   “Just the address,” Igor said, which he repeated.
   Jack thanked Igor for his help and hung up the phone. Taking out the phone directory, he looked up Frazer Labs. There was no listing. He tried information but had the same luck.
   Jack sat back. Once again he’d gotten information he didn’t expect. He now had two sources of the offending bacteria. Since he already knew something about the lab at the Manhattan General, he thought he’d better visit Frazer Labs. If there was some way he could establish an association with the two labs or with Martin Cheveau personally, he’d turn everything over to Lou Soldano.
   The first problem was the concern about being followed. The previous evening he’d thought he’d been so clever but had been humbled by Shawn Magoginal. Yet to give himself credit, he had to remember that Shawn was an expert. The Black Kings certainly weren’t. But to make up for their lack of expertise, the Black Kings were ruthless. Jack knew he’d have to lose a potential tail rapidly since they had clearly demonstrated a total lack of compunction about attacking him in public.
   There was also the collateral worry about Warren and his gang. Jack didn’t know what to think about them. He had no idea of Warren’s state of mind. It was something Jack would have to face in the near future.
   To lose any tail Jack wanted a crowded location with multiple entrances and exits. Immediately Grand Central Terminal and the Port Authority Bus Terminal came to mind. He decided on the former since it was closer.
   Jack wished there were some underground way of getting over to the NYU Medical Center to help him get away from the office, but there wasn’t. Instead he settled on a radio-dispatched taxi service. He directed the dispatcher to have the car pick him up at the receiving bay of the morgue.
   Everything seemed to work perfectly. The car came quickly. Jack slipped in from the bay. They managed to hit the light at First Avenue; at no time was Jack a sitting duck in a motionless car. Still, he hunched low in his seat, out of view, sparking the driver’s curiosity. The cabbie kept stealing looks at Jack in his rearview mirror.
   As they drove up First Avenue, Jack raised himself up and watched out the back. He saw nothing suspicious. No cars suddenly pulled into the traffic. No one ran out to flag a cab.
   They turned left on Forty-second Street. Jack had the driver pull up directly in front of Grand Central. The moment the car came to a stop, Jack was out and running. He dashed through the entrance and merged quickly with the crowd. To be absolutely sure he was not being followed, he descended into the subway and boarded the Forty-second Street shuttle.
   When the train was about to leave and the doors had started to close, Jack impeded their closing and jumped off the train. He ran up into the station proper and exited back onto Forty-second Street through a different entrance than he used when he arrived.
   Feeling confident, Jack hailed a taxi. At first he told the driver to take him to the World Trade Center. During the trip down Fifth Avenue he watched to see if any cars, taxis, or trucks could have been following. When none seemed to be doing so, Jack told the driver to take him to 550 Broome Street.
   Jack finally began to relax. He sat back in the seat and put his hands to his temples. The headache he’d awakened with in the overheated hotel room had never completely gone away. He’d been ascribing the lingering throb to anxiety, but now there were new symptoms. He had a vague sore throat accompanied by mild coryza. There was still a chance it was all psychosomatic, but he was still worried.
   After rounding Washington Square, the taxi driver went south on Broadway before turning east on Houston Street. At Eldridge he made a right.
   Jack looked out at the scenery. He’d not had any idea where Broome Street was, although he’d assumed it was someplace downtown, south of Houston. That entire section of the city was one of the many parts of New York he had yet to explore, and there were many street names with which he was unfamiliar.
   The cab made a left-hand turn off Eldridge, and Jack caught a glimpse of the street sign. It was Broome Street. Jack looked out at the buildings. They were five and six stories tall. Many were abandoned and boarded up. It seemed an improbable place to have a medical lab.
   At the next corner the neighborhood improved slightly. There was a plumbing-supply store with thick metal grates covering its windows. Sprinkled down the rest of the block were other building-supply concerns. On the floors above the street-level stores were a few loft apartments. Otherwise, it seemed to be vacant commercial space.
   In the middle of the following block, the cabdriver pulled to the side of the street. Five-fifty Broome Street was not Frazer Labs. It was a combination check-cashing place, mailbox rental, and pawnshop stuck between a package store and a shoe repair shop.
   Jack hesitated. At first he thought he’d gotten the wrong address. But that seemed unlikely. Not only had he written it down, but Igor had mentioned it twice. Jack paid his fare and climbed from the cab.
   Like all the other stores in the area, this one had an iron grille that could be pulled across its front at night and locked. In the window was a miscellaneous mixture of objects that included an electric guitar, a handful of cameras, and a display of cheap jewelry. A large sign over the door said: “Personal Mailboxes.” Painted on the door glass were the words “Checks Cashed.”
   Jack stepped up to the window. By standing directly in front of the electric guitar, he could see beyond the display into the store itself. There was a glass-topped counter that ran down the right side. Behind the counter was a mustached man with a punk-rock hairstyle. He was dressed in military camouflage fatigues. In the rear of the shop was a Plexiglas-enclosed cubicle that looked like a bank teller’s window. On the left side of the store was a bank of mailboxes.
   Jack was intrigued. The fact that Frazer Labs might be using this tacky shop as a mail drop was certainly suspicious if it was true. At first he was tempted to walk in and ask. But he didn’t. He was afraid by doing so he might hinder other methods of finding out. He knew that such personal mailbox establishments were loath to give out any information. Privacy was the main reason people rented the boxes in the first place.
   What Jack truly wanted was not only to find out if Frazer Labs had a box there, but to entice a Frazer Labs representative to come to the shop. Slowly an elaborate plan began to form in Jack’s mind.
   Being careful not to be seen by the clerk within the store, Jack quickly walked away. The first thing he needed was a telephone directory. Since the area around the pawnshop was comparatively deserted, Jack walked south to Canal Street. There he found a drugstore.
   From the phone directory Jack copied down four addresses: a nearby uniform shop, a van rental agency, an office supply store, and a Federal Express office. Since the clothing shop was the closest, Jack went there first.
   Once in the store Jack realized that he couldn’t remember what Federal Express courier uniforms looked like. But he wasn’t terribly concerned. If he couldn’t remember, he didn’t think the clerk in the pawnshop would know either. Jack bought a pair of blue cotton twill pants and a white shirt with flap pockets and epaulets. He also bought a plain black belt and blue tie.
   “Would you mind if I put these on?” Jack asked the clerk.
   “Of course not,” the clerk said. He showed Jack to a makeshift dressing room.
   The pants were slightly too long, but Jack was satisfied. When he looked at himself in the mirror he thought he needed something else. He ended up adding a blue peaked cap to his outfit. After Jack paid for his purchases, the clerk was happy to wrap up Jack’s street clothes. Just before the package was sealed, Jack thought to rescue his rimantadine. With the symptoms he was feeling he didn’t want to miss a dose.
   The next stop was the office-supply store, where Jack selected wrapping paper, tape, a medium-sized box, string, and a packet of “rush” labels. To Jack’s surprise he even found “biohazard” labels, so he tossed a box of them into his shopping cart. In another part of the store he found a clipboard and a pad of printed receipt forms. Once he had everything he wanted he took them to the checkout register and paid.
   The next stop was the Federal Express office. From their supply stand Jack took several address labels with the clear plastic envelopes used to attach them to a parcel.
   The final destination was a car rental agency, where Jack rented a cargo van. That took the most time, since Jack had to wait while someone went to another location to bring the van to the agency. Jack used the opportunity to prepare the parcel. First he put together the box. Wanting to give it the feeling of having contents, Jack eyed a triangular piece of wood on the floor near the entrance. He assumed it was a doorstop.
   When no one at the rental counter was looking Jack picked up the object and slipped it into the box. He then crumpled up multiple sheets of a New York Post that he found in the waiting area. He hefted the box and gave it a shake. Satisfied, he taped it shut.
   After the wrapping paper and the string were applied, Jack plastered the outside with “rush” and “biohazard” labels.
   The final touch was the Federal Express label, which Jack carefully filled out, addressing it to Frazer Labs. For the return address Jack used National Biologicals’s. After throwing away the top copy, Jack inserted one of the carbons into the plastic envelope and secured it to the front of the box. He was pleased. The package appeared official indeed, and with all the “rush” labels, he hoped it would have the desired effect.
   When the van arrived, Jack went out and put the package, the remains of the wrapping material, and the parcel containing his clothes in the back. Climbing behind the wheel, he drove off.
   Before going back to the pawnshop Jack made two stops. He returned to the drugstore where he’d used the phone book and bought some throat lozenges for his irritated throat, which seemed to be getting worse. He also stopped at a deli for some takeout. He wasn’t hungry, but it was already afternoon, and he’d eaten nothing that day. Besides, after he delivered the package he had no idea how long he’d have to wait.
   While driving back to Broome Street Jack opened one of the orange-juice containers he’d bought and used the juice to take a second dose of rimantadine. In view of his progressive symptoms he wanted to keep the drug’s concentration high in his blood.
   Jack pulled up directly in front of the pawnshop, leaving the engine running and the emergency blinkers blinking. Clutching his clipboard, he got out and went around to the rear to get the package. Then he entered the store.
   The door had bells secured to the top edge, and Jack’s entrance was heralded by a raucous ringing. As had been the case earlier, there were no customers in the shop. The mustached man in the camouflage fatigues looked up from a magazine. With his hair standing on end he had the look of perpetual surprise.
   “I’ve got a rush delivery for Frazer Labs,” Jack said. He plopped the parcel down on the glass counter and shoved the clipboard under the man’s nose. “Sign there at the bottom,” he added while proffering his pen to the man.
   The man took the pen but hesitated and eyed the box.
   “This is the right address, isn’t it?” Jack asked.
   “I reckon,” the man said. He stroked his mustache and looked up at Jack. “What’s the rush?”
   “I was told there was dry ice in there,” Jack said. Then he leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “My supervisor thinks it’s a shipment of live bacteria. You know, for research and all.”
   The man nodded.
   “I was surprised I wasn’t delivering this directly to the lab,” Jack said. “It can’t sit around. I mean, I don’t think it will leak out or anything; at least I don’t think so. But it might die and then it will be useless. I assume you have a way of getting in touch with your customers?”
   “I reckon,” the man repeated.
   “I’d advise you to do that,” Jack said. “Now sign and I’ll be on my way.”
   The man signed his name. Reading upside down, Jack made out “Tex Hartmann.” Tex pushed the clipboard back toward Jack, and Jack slipped it under his arm. “I’m sure glad to get that thing off my truck,” Jack said. “I’ve never been much of a fan of bacteria and viruses. Did you hear about those cases of plague that were here in New York last week? They scared me to death.”
   The man nodded again.
   “Take care,” Jack said with a wave. He walked out of the store and climbed into his truck. He wished that Tex had been a bit more talkative. Jack wasn’t sure if he would be calling Frazer Labs or not. But just as Jack was releasing the emergency brake he could see Tex through the window dialing his phone.
   Pleased with himself, Jack drove several blocks down Broome Street, then circled the block. He parked about a half block from the pawn shop and turned off the motor. After locking the doors, he broke out the deli food. Whether he was hungry or not, he was going to make himself eat something.

   “Are you sure we should be doing this?” BJ questioned.
   “Yeah, man, I’m sure,” Twin said. He was maneuvering his Cadillac around Washington Square Park looking for someplace to park. It wasn’t looking good. The park was crammed full of people entertaining themselves in a bewildering variety of ways. There was skateboarding, in-line skating, Frisbee throwing, break dancing, chess playing, and drug dealing. Baby carriages dotted the park. It was a carnival-like atmosphere, which was exactly why Twin had suggested the park for the upcoming meeting.
   “Shit, man, I feel naked without some kind of ordnance. It’s not right.”
   “Shut your mouth, BJ, and look for a spot for this ride of mine,” Twin said. “This is going to be a meeting of the brothers. There’s no need for any firepower.”
   “What if they bring some?” BJ asked.
   “Hey, man, don’t you trust nobody?” Twin asked. At that moment he saw a delivery van pulling away from the curb. “What do you know, we’re in luck.”
   Twin expertly guided his car into the spot and pushed on the emergency brake.
   “It says for commercial vehicles only,” BJ said. He had his face pressed up against the window to see the parking sign.
   “With all the crack we’ve moved this year I think we qualify,” Twin said with a laugh. “Come on, get your black ass in gear.”
   They got out of the car and crossed the street to enter the park. Twin checked his watch. They were a little early despite the trouble parking. That was how Twin liked it for this kind of meeting. He wanted a chance to scope the place out. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the other brothers, it was just that he liked to be careful.
   But Twin was in for a surprise. When his eyes swept the area for the agreed-upon meeting he found himself transfixed by the stare of one of the more physically imposing men he’d seen in some time.
   “Uh-oh,” Twin said under his breath.
   “What’s the matter?” BJ demanded, instantly alert.
   “The brothers have gotten here before us,” Twin said.
   “What do you want me to do?” BJ asked. His own eyes raced around the park until they, too, settled on the same man Twin had spotted.
   “Nothing,” Twin said. “Just keep walking.”
   “He looks so goddamn relaxed,” BJ said. “It makes me worried.”
   “Shut up!” Twin commanded.
   Twin walked right up to the man whose piercing eyes had never left his. Twin formed his right hand into the form of a gun, pointed at the man, and said: “Warren!”
   “You got it,” Warren said. “How’s it going?”
   “Not bad,” Twin said. He then ritualistically raised his right hand to head height. Warren did the same and they high-fived. It was a perfunctory gesture, akin to a couple of rival investment bankers shaking hands.
   “This here’s David,” Warren said, motioning toward his companion.
   “And this here’s BJ,” Twin said, mimicking Warren.
   David and BJ eyed each other but didn’t move or speak.
   “Listen, man,” Twin said. “Let me say one thing right off. We didn’t know the doc was living in your hood. I mean, maybe we should have known, but we didn’t think about it with him being white.”
   “What kind of a relationship did you have with the doc?” Warren asked.
   “Relationship?” Twin questioned. “We didn’t have no relationship.”
   “How come you’ve been trying to ice him?” Warren asked.
   “Just for some small change,” Twin said. “A white dude who lives down our way came to us and offered us some cash to warn the doc about something he was doing. Then, when the doc didn’t take our advice, the dude offered us more to take him out.”
   “So you’re telling me the doc hasn’t been dealing with you people?” Warren asked.
   “Shit no,” Twin said with a derisive laugh. “We don’t need no honky doctor for our operation, no way.”
   “You should have come to us first,” Warren said. “We would have set you right about the doc. He’s been running with us on the b-ball court for four or five months. He’s not half bad neither. So I’m sorry about Reginald. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened if we’d talked.”
   “I’m sorry about the kid,” Twin said. “That shouldn’t have happened neither. Trouble was, we were so pissed about Reginald. We couldn’t believe a brother would get shot over a honky doctor.”
   “That makes us even,” Warren said. “That’s not counting what happened last night, but that didn’t involve us.”
   “I know,” Twin said. “Can you imagine that doc? He’s like a cat with nine lives. How the hell did that cop react so fast? And why was he in there? He must think he’s Wyatt Earp or something.”
   “The point is that we have a truce,” Warren said.
   “Damn straight,” Twin said. “No more brother shooting brother. We’ve got enough trouble without that.”
   “But a truce means you lay off the doc too,” Warren said.
   “You care what happens to that dude?” Twin asked.
   “Yeah, I do,” Warren said.
   “Hey, then it’s your call, man,” Twin said. “It wasn’t like the money was that good anyway.”
   Warren stuck out his hand palm up. Twin slapped it. Then Warren slapped Twin’s.
   “Be good,” Warren said.
   “You too, man,” Twin said.
   Warren motioned to David that they were leaving. They walked back toward the Washington Arch at the base of Fifth Avenue.
   “That wasn’t half bad,” David said.
   Warren shrugged.
   “You believe him?” David asked.
   “Yeah, I do,” Warren said. “He might deal in drugs, but he’s not stupid. If this thing goes on, we all lose.”

32. Wednesday, 5:45 p.m., March 27, 1996

   Jack felt uncomfortable. Among other problems he was stiff and now all his muscles ached. He’d been sitting in the van for more hours than he cared to count, watching customers going in and out of the pawnshop. There’d never been a crowd, but it was steady. Most of the people looked seedy. It occurred to Jack that the shop was trafficking in illicit activities like gambling or drugs.
   It was not a good neighborhood. Jack had sensed that the moment he’d arrived that morning. The point had been driven home as darkness fell and someone tried to break into the van with Jack sitting there. The man had approached the passenger-side door with a flat bar, which he proceeded to insert between the glass and the door frame. Jack had to knock on the glass and wave to get the man’s attention. The moment he saw Jack he ran off.
   Jack was now popping throat lozenges at a regular rate with little relief. His throat was worse, and to add to his increasing misery he’d developed a cough. It wasn’t a bad cough, merely a dry hack. But it further irritated his throat and increased his anxiety that he had indeed caught the flu from Gloria Hernandez. Although two rimantadine tablets were recommended as the daily dose, Jack took a third when the coughing started.
   Just about the time Jack was contemplating admitting to himself that his clever ploy with the package had been a failure, his patience paid off. The man involved did not attract Jack’s attention initially. He’d arrived on foot, which was not what Jack expected. He was dressed in an old nylon ski parka with a hood just like a few of the individuals who’d preceded him. But when he came out he was carrying the parcel. Despite the failing light and the distance, Jack could see the “rush” and “biohazard” labels plastered haphazardly over the exterior.
   Jack had to make a rapid decision as the man walked briskly toward the Bowery. He hadn’t expected to be following a pedestrian, and he debated if he should get out of the van and follow on foot or stay in the van, circle around, and try to follow the man while driving.
   Thinking that a slowly moving van would attract more attention than a pedestrian, Jack got out of the truck. He followed at a distance until the man turned right on Eldridge Street. Jack then ran until he reached the corner.
   He peeked around just in time to see the man entering a building across the street, midway down the block.
   Jack quickly walked to the building. It was five stories, like its immediate neighbors. Each floor had two large, storefront-sized windows with smaller, sashed windows on either side. A fire escape zigzagged down the left side of the facade to end in a counterweighted ladder pivoted some twelve feet from the sidewalk. The ground-floor commercial space was vacant with a For Rent sign stuck to the inside of the glass.
   The only lights were in the second-floor windows. From where Jack was standing it appeared to be a loft apartment, but he couldn’t be certain. There were no drapes or other obvious signs of domesticity.
   While Jack was eyeing the building, vaguely wondering what to do next, the lights went on up on the fifth floor. While he watched he saw someone raise the sash of the smaller window to the left. Jack was unable to see if it had been the man he followed, but he suspected it was.
   After making certain he wasn’t being observed, Jack quickly moved over to the door where the man had entered. He tried it, and it opened. Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in a small foyer. A group of four mailboxes was set into the wall to the left. Only two had names. The second floor was occupied by G. Heilbrunn. The fifth-floor tenant was R. Overstreet. There was no Frazer Labs.
   Four buzzers bordered a small grille which Jack assumed covered a speaker. He vaguely contemplated ringing the fifth floor but had trouble imagining what he could say. He stood there for a few minutes thinking, but nothing came to mind. Then he noticed that the mailbox for the fifth floor appeared to be unlocked.
   Jack was about to reach up to the mailbox when the inner door to the building proper abruptly opened. It startled Jack and he jumped, but he had the presence of mind to keep himself turned away from whoever was exiting the building. The person hastily brushed by Jack with obvious distress. Jack caught a fleeting glimpse of the same nylon ski parka. A second later the man was gone.
   Jack reacted quickly, getting his foot into the inner door before it closed. As soon as he was certain the man was not immediately returning, Jack entered the building. He let the door close behind him. A stairway wound up surrounding a wide elevator built of a steel frame covered by heavy wire mesh. Jack assumed the elevator had been for freight, not only because of its size but also because its doors closed horizontally instead of vertically, and its floor was rough-hewn planks.
   Jack got into the elevator and pushed five.
   The elevator was noisy, bumpy, and slow, but it got Jack to the fifth floor. Getting off, he faced a plain, heavy door. There was no name and no bell. Hoping the apartment was empty, Jack knocked. When there was no answer even after a second, louder rapping, Jack tried the door. It was locked.
   Since the stairway rose up another floor, Jack climbed to see if he could get to the roof. The door opened but would lock behind him once he was outside. Before he ventured onto the roof he had to find something to wedge between the door and doorjamb so he could return to the stairwell. Just over the threshold he found a short length of two-by-four, which he guessed was there for that very purpose.
   With the door propped open Jack stepped out onto the dark roof and gingerly walked toward the front of the building. Ahead of him he could see the arched handrails of the fire-escape ladder silhouetted against the night sky.
   Arriving at the front parapet, Jack grasped the handrails and looked down. The view down to the street awakened his fear of heights, and the idea of lowering himself over the edge made him feel momentarily weak. Yet just twelve feet down was the fire-escape landing for the fifth floor. It was generously illuminated by the light coming from within the apartment.
   Despite his phobia, Jack knew this was a chance he couldn’t pass up. He had to at least take a look into the window.
   First he sat on the parapet facing the rear of the building. Then, holding on to the handrail, he stood up. Keeping his eyes fixed on each rung, Jack lowered himself down the short run of ladder. He moved slowly and deliberately until his foot hit up against the grate of the landing. Never once did he look down.
   Maintaining one hand on the ladder, he leaned over and peered through the window. The space was indeed a loft as Jack had surmised, but he could see it was partially divided with six-foot-high partitions. Immediately in front of him was a living area with a bed to the right and a small kitchen built against the left wall. On a round table was the opened remains of Jack’s parcel. The doorstop and the crumpled newspaper were strewn about the floor.
   What interested Jack more was what he could just see over the partition: It was the top of a stainless-steel appliance that did not look as if it belonged in an apartment.
   With the window in front of him invitingly open, Jack could not control his urge to climb into the apartment for a better look. Besides, he rationalized, he could exit into the stairwell rather than subject himself to climbing the fire-escape ladder again.
   Although he continued to avoid looking down, it took Jack a moment to convince himself to let go of the ladder. By the time he had slithered into the apartment headfirst, he was perspiring heavily.
   Jack quickly collected himself. Once inside with his feet planted on the floor, he had no compunction about peering back out the window and down at the street. He wanted to make sure the man in the ski parka wasn’t coming back, at least not for the moment.
   Satisfied, Jack turned back to the apartment. He went from the combination kitchen-bedroom into a living room dominated by a storefront-sized window. There were two couches facing each other and a coffee table on a small hooked rug. The walls of the partitions were decorated with posters announcing international microbiological symposia. The magazines on the coffee table were all microbiological journals.
   Jack was encouraged. Perhaps he had found Frazer Labs after all. But there was also something that disturbed him. A large, glass-fronted gun cabinet stood against the far partition. The man in the ski parka was not only interested in bacteria; he was also a gun enthusiast.
   Moving quickly, Jack passed through the living room intent on locating the door to the stairwell. But as soon as he passed beyond the living room’s partition, he came to a stop. The entire rest of the large, multicolumned loft was occupied by a lab. The stainless-steel appliance he’d seen from the fire escape was similar to the walk-in incubator he’d seen in the General’s lab. In the far right-hand corner was a type III biosafety hood whose exhaust vented out the top of the sashed window.
   Although Jack had suspected he’d find a private lab when he climbed through the window, the comprehensiveness of the one he’d discovered stunned him. He knew that such equipment was not cheap, and the combination living quarters/lab was unusual to say the least.
   A generous commercial freezer caught Jack’s attention. Standing to the side were several large cylinders of compressed nitrogen. The freezer had been converted to using liquid nitrogen as its coolant, making it possible to take the interior temperature down into the minus-fifty-degree range.
   Jack tried to open the freezer, but it was locked.
   A muffled noise that resembled a bark caught Jack’s attention, and he looked up from the freezer. He heard it again. It came from the very back of the lab where there was a shed about twenty feet square. Jack walked closer to examine the odd structure. A vent duct exited from its rear and exhausted through the top of one of the rear windows.
   Jack cracked the door. A feral odor drifted out as well as a few sharp barks. Opening the door farther, Jack saw the edges of metal cages. He flipped on a light. He saw a few dogs and cats, but for the most part the room was filled with rats and mice. The animals stared back at him blankly. A few dogs wagged their tails in hopeful anticipation.
   Jack shut the door. In Jack’s mind the man in the parka was becoming some kind of fiendish microbiological devotee. Jack didn’t even want to think about what kind of experiments were in progress with the animals he’d discovered.
   A sudden, distant high-pitched whine of electrical machinery made Jack’s heart skip a beat. He knew instantly what it was: the elevator!
   With rapidly mounting panic, Jack frantically searched for the door to the hall. The spectacle of the lab had diverted his attention from locating it. It didn’t take long to find, but by the time Jack reached it, he feared the elevator would be nearing the fifth floor.
   Jack’s initial thought had been to dash up the stairs to the roof and then exit the building after the man in the parka had entered his apartment. But now with the elevator fast approaching, Jack thought he’d be seen. That left exiting the apartment the way he’d entered. But when the elevator motor stopped and the metal doors clanged open, he knew there wasn’t time.
   Jack had to hide quickly, preferably close to the door to the hall. About ten feet away was a blank door. Jack rushed to it and opened it: It was a bathroom. Jack jumped in and pulled the door closed behind him. He had to hope the man in the parka had other things on his mind than using the toilet or washing his hands.
   Hardly had Jack shut the bathroom door than he heard keys turning the locks of the outer door. The man came in, locked the door after him, then walked briskly away. The sound of his footsteps receded, then disappeared.
   For a second Jack hesitated. He gauged how much time he needed to get to the door to the hall and unlock it. Once he got to the stairs he felt confident he could outrun the man in the parka. With all his basketball playing, Jack was in better shape than most.
   As quietly as possible, Jack opened the door. At first he only cracked it to be able to listen. Jack heard nothing. Slowly he opened the door further so that he could peer out.
   From Jack’s vantage point he could see a large part of the lab. The man was not to be seen. Jack pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through. He eyed the door to the hall. There was a deadbolt a few inches above the knob.
   Glancing around the lab once more, Jack slipped out of the bathroom and rushed silently over to the outer door. He grasped the knob with his left hand while his right hand went to the deadbolt. But there was an agonizing problem. The deadbolt had no knob. A key was required from both inside and out. Jack was locked in!
   Panicked, Jack retreated to the bathroom. He felt desperate, like one of the poor animals penned in the makeshift shelter. His only hope was that the man in the parka would leave before using the bathroom. But it was not to be. After only a few agonizing minutes, the bathroom door was suddenly whisked open. The man, sans parka, started in but collided with Jack. Both men gasped.
   Jack was about to say something clever when the man stepped back and slammed the door hard enough to bring down the shower curtain and rod.
   Jack immediately went for the door handle for fear of being locked in. Putting his shoulder into it, Jack rammed the door. Unexpectedly the door opened without hindrance. Jack stumbled out of the bathroom, struggling to stay on his feet. Once he had his balance, his eyes darted around the loft. The man had disappeared.
   Jack headed for the kitchen and the open window. He had no other choice. But he only made it as far as the living room. The man had also run there to snatch a large revolver out of a drawer in the coffee table. As Jack appeared, the man leveled the gun at him and told him to freeze.
   Jack immediately complied. He even raised his hands. With such a large gun pointing at him, Jack wanted to be as cooperative as possible.
   “What the hell are you doing here?” the man snarled. His hair fell across his forehead, making him snap his head back to keep it out of his eyes.
   It was that gesture more than anything else that made Jack recognize the man. It was Richard, the head tech from the Manhattan General’s lab.
   “Answer me!” Richard demanded.
   Jack raised his hands higher, hoping the gesture might satisfy Richard, while his mind desperately sought some reasonable explanation of why he was there. But none came to mind. Under the circumstances Jack couldn’t even think of anything clever to say.
   Jack kept his eyes riveted to the gun barrel, which had moved to within three feet of his nose. He noticed the tip trembled, suggesting that Richard was not only angry but also acutely agitated. In Jack’s mind such a combination was particularly dangerous.
   “If you don’t answer me I’m going to shoot you right now,” Richard hissed.
   “I’m a medical examiner,” Jack blurted out. “I’m investigating.”
   “Bull!” Richard snapped. “Medical examiners don’t go busting into people’s apartments.”
   “I didn’t break in,” Jack explained. “The window was open.”
   “Shut up,” Richard said. “It’s all the same. You’re trespassing and meddling.”
   “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Couldn’t we just talk about this?”
   “Were you the one who sent me that fake package?” Richard demanded.
   “What package?” Jack asked innocently.
   Richard’s eyes left Jack’s, and they swept down to Jack’s feet and then back up to his face. “You’ve even got on a fake deliveryman outfit. That took thought and effort.”
   “What are you talking about?” Jack asked. “I dress like this all the time when I’m not at the morgue.”
   “Bull!” Richard repeated. He pointed toward one of the couches with the gun. “Sit down!” he yelled.
   “All right already,” Jack said. “You only have to ask nicely.” The initial shock was passing and his wits were returning. He sat where Richard indicated.
   Richard backed up to the gun cabinet without taking his eyes off Jack. He groped for keys in his pocket and then tried to get the gun cabinet open without looking at what he was doing.
   “Can I give you a hand?” Jack asked.
   “Shut up!” Richard yelled. Even his hand with the key was shaking. When he got the glazed door open, he reached in and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
   “Now, that’s a handy item to have around,” Jack said.
   Handcuffs in hand, Richard started back toward Jack, keeping the gun pointed at his face.
   “I tell you what,” Jack said. “Why don’t we call the police. I’ll confess, and they can take me away. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
   “Shut up,” Richard ordered. He then motioned for Jack to get to his feet.
   Jack complied and lifted his hands again.
   “Move!” Richard said, motioning toward the main part of the lab.
   Jack backed up. He was afraid to take his eyes off the gun. Richard kept coming toward him, the handcuffs dangling from his left hand.
   “Over by the column,” Richard snapped.
   Jack did as he was instructed. He stood against the column. It was about fifteen inches in diameter.
   “Face it,” Richard commanded.
   Jack turned around.
   “Reach around it with your hands and grasp them together,” Richard said.
   When he did what Richard had insisted, Jack felt the handcuffs snap over each wrist. He was now locked to the column.
   “Mind if I sit down?” Jack asked.
   Richard didn’t bother to answer. He hurried back into the living area. Jack lowered himself to the floor. The most comfortable position was embracing the column with his legs wrapped around it as well as his arms.
   Jack could hear Richard dialing a telephone. Jack considered yelling for help when Richard started his conversation, but quickly scrapped the idea as suicidal, considering how nervous Richard was acting. Besides, whomever Richard was calling probably wouldn’t care about Jack’s plight.
   “Jack Stapleton is here!” Richard blurted without preamble. “I caught him in my goddamn bathroom. He knows about Frazer Labs and he’s been snooping around in here. I’m sure of it. Just like Beth Holderness at the lab.”
   The hairs on the back of Jack’s neck rose up when he heard Richard mention Beth’s name.
   “Don’t tell me to calm down!” Richard shouted. “This is an emergency. I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved in this. You’d better get over here fast. This is your problem as well as it is mine.”
   Jack heard Richard slam down the telephone. The man sounded even more agitated. A few minutes later Richard reappeared without his gun.
   He came over to Jack and looked down at him. Richard’s lips were quivering. “How did you find out about Frazer Labs?” he demanded. “I know you sent the phony package, so there’s no use lying.”
   Jack looked up into the man’s face. Richard’s pupils were widely dilated. He looked half crazy.
   Without warning, Richard slapped Jack with an open palm. The blow split Jack’s lower lip. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
   “You’d better start talking.” Richard snarled.
   Jack gingerly felt the damaged part of his lip with his tongue. It was numb. He tasted the saltiness of his blood.
   “Maybe we should wait for your colleague,” Jack said, to say something. His intuition told him he soon would be seeing Martin Cheveau or Kelley or possibly even Zimmerman.
   The slap must have hurt Richard as well as Jack because he opened and closed his hand a few times and then disappeared back into the living area. Jack heard what he thought was the refrigerator being opened, then an ice tray being dumped.
   A few minutes later Richard reappeared to glare at Jack. He had a dish towel wrapped around his hand. He commenced pacing, pausing every now and again to glance at his watch.
   Time dragged by. Jack would have liked to have been able to take one of his throat lozenges, but it was impossible. He also noticed that his cough was increasing and that he now felt just plain sick. He guessed he had a fever.
   The distant, high-pitched sound of the elevator brought Jack’s head up from where it had slumped against the column. Jack considered the fact that the buzzer hadn’t sounded. That meant that whoever was on their way up had a key.
   Richard heard the elevator motor as well. He went to the door and opened it to wait in the hall.
   Jack heard the elevator arrive with a thump. The motor switched off and the elevator door clanged open.
   “Where is he?” an angry voice demanded.
   Jack was facing away from the door when he heard Richard and his visitor come into the loft. He heard the door close and be locked.
   “He’s over there,” Richard said with equal venom. “Handcuffed to the column.”
   Jack took a breath and turned his head as he heard footsteps close in on him. When he caught sight of who it was, he gasped.

33. Wednesday, 7:45 p.m., March 27, 1996

   “You bastard!” Terese snapped. “Why couldn’t you let sleeping dogs lie. You and your stubbornness! You’re screwing everything up, just when things are finally starting to go right.”
   Jack was dumbstruck. He looked up into her blue eyes, which he had only recently seen as soft. Now they looked as hard as pale sapphires. Her mouth was no longer sensuous. Her bloodless lips formed a grim line.
   “Terese!” Richard yelled. “Don’t waste time trying to talk with him. We got to figure out what we’re going to do. What if someone knows he is here?”
   Terese broke off from glaring at Jack to look at Richard. “Are those stupid cultures of yours in this lab?” she demanded.
   “Of course they’re here,” Richard said.
   “Then get rid of them,” Terese said. “Flush them down the toilet.”
   “But, Terese!” Richard cried.
   “Don’t ‘but, Terese’ me. Get rid of them. Now!”
   “Even the influenza?” Richard questioned.
   “Especially the influenza!” Terese snapped.
   Morosely Richard went over to the freezer, unlocked it, and began rummaging through its contents.
   “What am I going to do with you?” Terese asked, redirecting her attention to Jack. She was thinking out loud.
   “For starters you could take off these handcuffs,” Jack said. “Then we could all go for a quiet dinner at Positano, and you can let your friends know we are there.”
   “Shut up!” Terese exclaimed. “I’ve had it with your repartee.”
   Abruptly Terese left Jack and moved over next to Richard. She watched him gathering a handful of frozen vials. “All of it, now!” she warned. “There cannot be any evidence here, you understand?”
   “It was the worst decision of my life to help you,” Richard complained. When he had all the vials he disappeared into the bathroom.
   “How are you involved in all this?” Jack asked Terese.
   Terese didn’t answer. Instead she walked around the partition into the living room. Behind him Jack heard the toilet flush, and he hated to think what had just been sent into the city’s sewers to infect the sewer rats.
   Richard reappeared and followed Terese into the living area. Jack couldn’t see them, but given the high, unadorned ceiling he could hear them as if they were right next to him.
   “We’ve got to get him out of here immediately,” Terese said.
   “And do what?” Richard asked moodily. “Dump him in the East River?”
   “No, I think he should just disappear,” Terese said. “What about Mom and Dad’s farmhouse up in the Catskills?”
   “I never thought of that,” Richard said. His voice brightened. “But, yeah, that’s a good idea.”
   “How will we get him up there?” Terese asked.
   “I’ll bring around my Explorer,” Richard said.
   “The problem is getting him into it and then keeping him quiet,” Terese said.
   “I’ve got ketamine,” Richard said.
   “What’s that?” Terese asked.
   “It’s an anesthetic agent,” Richard said. “It’s used a lot in veterinary medicine. There are some uses for humans, but it can cause hallucinations.”
   “I don’t care if it causes hallucinations,” Terese said. “All I care about is whether it will knock him out or not. Actually, it would be best just to have him tranquilized.”
   “Ketamine is all I’ve got,” Richard said. “I can get it because it’s not a scheduled drug. I use it with the animals.”
   “I don’t want to hear about any of that,” Terese said. “Is it possible just to give him enough to make him dopey?”
   “I don’t know for sure,” Richard said. “But I’ll try.”
   “How do you give it?” Terese asked.
   “Injection,” Richard said. “But it’s short-acting, so we might have to do it several times.”
   “Let’s give it a try,” Terese said.
   Jack found himself perspiring heavily when Terese and Richard reappeared from the living room. Jack didn’t know if it was from a fever or from the worry engendered by the conversation he’d just overheard. He did not like the idea of being an unwilling experimental subject with a potent anesthetic agent.
   Richard went to a cabinet and got out a handful of syringes. From another cabinet he got the drug, which came in a glass vial with a rubber top. He then stopped to figure out a dose.
   “What do you think he weighs?” Richard asked Terese as if Jack were an uncomprehending animal.
   “I’d guess about one-eighty, give or take five pounds,” Terese said.
   Richard did some simple calculations, then filled one of the syringes. As he came at Jack, Jack had to fight off a panic attack. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t. Richard injected the ketamine into his right upper arm. Jack winced. It burned like crazy.
   “Let’s see what that does,” Richard said, stepping away. He discarded the used syringe. “While we wait I’ll go get my car.”
   Terese nodded. Richard got his ski parka and pulled it on. At the door he told Terese he’d be back in ten minutes.
   “So, this is a sibling operation,” Jack commented when he and Terese were alone.
   “Don’t remind me,” Terese said, shaking her head. She began to pace as Richard had earlier.
   The first effect Jack experienced from the ketamine was a ringing in his ears. Then his image of Terese began to do strange things. Jack blinked and shook his head. It was as if a cloud of heavy air were settling over him, and he was outside of himself watching it happen. Then he saw Terese at the end of a long tunnel. Suddenly her face expanded to an enormous size. She was speaking but the sound echoed interminably. Her words were incomprehensible.

   The next thing Jack was aware of was that he was walking. But it was a strange, uncoordinated walk, since he had no idea where the various parts of his body were. He had to look down to see his feet sweep out of the periphery of his vision and then plant themselves. When he tried to look where he was going he saw a fragmented image of brightly colored shapes and straight lines that were constantly moving.
   He felt mild nausea, but when he shook himself it passed. He blinked and the colored shapes came together and merged into a large shiny object. A hand came into his field of vision and it touched the object. That was when Jack realized it was his hand and the object was a car.
   Other elements of his immediate environment became recognizable. There were lights and a building. Then he realized that there were people on either side of him holding him up. They were speaking but their voices had a deep, mechanical sound as if they were synthesized.
   Jack felt himself falling, but he couldn’t stop himself. It seemed as if he fell for several minutes before landing on a hard surface. Then he could only see dark shapes. He was lying on a carpeted surface with something firm jutting into his stomach. When he tried to move he found that his wrists were restrained.
   Time passed. Jack had no idea how long. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. But at last he’d regained orientation, and he was no longer hallucinating. He realized that he was on the floor of the backseat of a moving car, and his hands were handcuffed to the undercarriage of the front passenger seat. Presumably they were on their way to the Catskills.
   To relieve the discomfort of the driveshaft pressing against his stomach, Jack drew his knees underneath him to assume a crouched-over position. It was far from ideal but better than it had been. But his discomfort was from more than his cramped posture. The flu symptoms were much worse, and combined with a hangover from the ketamine, he felt about as bad as he’d ever felt.
   Several violent sneezes caused Terese to look over the back of the seat.
   “Good God!” she exclaimed.
   “Where are we?” Jack asked. His voice was hoarse, and the effort of speaking caused him to cough repeatedly. He was having a problem with his nose running, but with his hands secured he couldn’t do anything about it.
   “I think you better just shut up or you’ll choke to death,” Richard said.
   Terese turned to Richard: “Is this coughing and sneezing from the shot you gave him?”
   “How the hell do I know? It’s not as if I’ve ever given ketamine to a person before.”
   “Well, it’s not so far-fetched to imagine you might have an idea,” Terese snapped. “You use it on those poor animals.”
   “I resent that,” Richard said indignantly. “You know I treat those animals like my pets. That’s why I have the ketamine in the first place.”
   Jack sensed that the anxiety that Terese and Richard had evidenced earlier about his presence had metamorphosed into irritation. From the way they were speaking it seemed to be mostly directed at each other.
   After a brief silence, Richard spoke up. “You know, this whole thing was your idea, not mine,” he said.
   “Oh no!” Terese voiced. “I’m not about to let you get away with that misconception. You were the one who suggested causing AmeriCare trouble with nosocomial infection. It never would have even crossed my mind.”
   “I only suggested it after you complained so bitterly about AmeriCare gobbling up National Health’s market share despite your stupid ad campaign,” Richard said. “You begged me to help.”
   “I wanted some ideas,” Terese said. “Something to use with the ads.”
   “Hell you did!” Richard said. “You don’t go to a grocery store and ask for hardware. I don’t know squat about advertising. You knew my field was microbiology. You knew what I’d suggest. It was what you were hoping.”
   “I never thought about it until you mentioned it,” Terese countered. “Besides, all you suggested was that you could arrange some bad press by nuisance infections. I thought you meant colds, or diarrhea, or the flu.”
   “I did use the flu,” Richard said.
   “Yes, you used the flu,” Terese said. “But was it regular flu? No, it was some weird stuff that has everybody all up in arms, including Doctor Detective in the backseat. I thought you were going to use common illnesses, not the plague, for chrissake. Or those other ones. I can’t even remember their names.”
   “You didn’t complain when the press jumped all over the outbreaks and the market share trend rapidly reversed,” Richard said. “You were happy.”
   “I was appalled,” Terese said. “And scared. I just didn’t say it.”
   “You’re full of crap!” Richard said heatedly. “I talked with you the day after the plague broke out. You didn’t mention it once. It even hurt my feelings since it took some effort on my part.”
   “I was afraid to say anything about it,” Terese said. “I didn’t want to associate myself with it in any way. But as bad as it was, I thought that was it. I didn’t know you were planning on more.”
   “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Richard said.
   Jack became aware they were slowing down. He lifted his head as high as his handcuffed hands would allow. The glare of artificial light penetrated the car. They’d been driving in darkness for some time.
   Suddenly there were bright lights, and they’d come to a complete stop under an overhang. When Jack heard the driver’s-side window going down, he realized they were at a tollbooth. He started to yell for help, but his voice was weak and raspy.
   Richard reacted swiftly by reaching around and smacking Jack with a hard object. The blow impacted on Jack’s head. He collapsed onto the floor.
   “Don’t hit him so hard,” Terese said. “You don’t want blood on the inside of the car.”
   “I thought shutting him up was more important,” Richard said. He threw a handful of coins into the bin of the automatic gate.
   Jack’s headache was now worse from the blow. He closed his eyes. He tried to find the most comfortable position, but there weren’t many choices. Mercifully, he finally fell into a troubled sleep despite being thrown from side to side. After the toll they were driving on a winding and twisting road.
   The next thing Jack knew, they were stopped again. Carefully he raised his head. Again there were lights outside of the car.
   “Don’t even think about it,” Richard said. He had the revolver in his hand.
   “Where are we?” Jack asked groggily.
   “At an all-night convenience store,” Richard said. “Terese wanted to get some basics.”
   Terese came back to the car with a bag of groceries.
   “Did he stir?” she asked, as she climbed in.
   “Yeah, he’s awake,” Richard said.
   “Did he try to yell again?”
   “Nope,” Richard said. “He didn’t dare.”
   They drove for another hour. Terese and Richard intermittently continued to bicker about whose fault the whole mess was. Neither was willing to give in.
   Finally they turned off the paved road and bounced along a rutted gravel drive. Jack winced as his tender body thumped against the floor and the driveshaft hump.
   Eventually they made a sharp turn to the left and came to a stop. Richard switched off the motor. Both he and Terese then got out.
   Jack was left in the car by himself. Lifting his head as high as he could, he was only able to see a swatch of night sky. It was very dark.
   Getting his legs under him, Jack tried to see if he could possibly rip the handcuffs from beneath the seat. But it wasn’t possible. The handcuffs had been looped around a stout piece of steel.
   Collapsing back down, he resigned himself to waiting. It was half an hour before they came back for him. When they did they opened both doors on the passenger side.
   Terese unlocked one side of the handcuffs.
   “Out of the car!” Richard commanded. He held his gun aimed at Jack’s head.
   Jack did as he was told. Terese then quickly stepped forward and recuffed Jack’s free hand.
   “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.”
   “I hope you made it deep enough,” Terese said, tossing aside a book. “I don’t want any more screwups, like having him wash up in the spring rain.”
   “It’s plenty deep enough,” Richard said. He disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he came out Terese was putting on her coat. “Where are you going?”
   “Out,” Terese said. She headed for the door. “I’ll go for a walk while you kill Jack.”
   “Wait a second,” Richard said. “Why me?”
   “You’re the man,” Terese said with a scornful smile. “That’s a man’s work.”
   “The hell it is,” Richard said. “I’m not going to kill him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t shoot someone while he’s handcuffed.”
   “I don’t believe you,” Terese yelled. “You’re not making sense. You had no compunction about putting lethal bacteria into defenseless people’s humidifiers, which sure as hell killed them.”
   “It was the bacteria that killed them,” Richard said. “It was a fight between the bacteria and the person’s immune system. I didn’t do the killing directly. They had a chance.”
   “Give me patience!” Terese cried, rolling her eyes heavenward. She collected herself and took a breath. “Okay, fine. With the patients it wasn’t you, it was the bacteria. In this case it will be the bullet, not you. How’s that? Does that satisfy this weird sense of responsibility of yours?”
   “This is different,” Richard said. “It’s not the same at all.”
   “Richard, we don’t have any choice. Otherwise you’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”
   Richard hesitantly looked over at the gun on the coffee table.
   “Get it!” Terese commanded when she saw him eyeing the pistol.
   Richard wavered.
   “Come on, Richard,” Terese urged.
   Richard went over and irresolutely picked up the gun. Holding it by the barrel as well as the handle, he cocked it.
   “Good!” Terese said encouragingly. “Now go over there and do it.”
   “Maybe if we take off the handcuffs, and he tries to run, I can…” Richard began. But he stopped in midsentence when Terese strode over to him with her eyes blazing. Without warning she slapped him. Richard recoiled from the blow, and his own anger flared.
   “Don’t even talk like that, you fool,” Terese spat. “We are not taking any more chances. Understand?”
   Richard put a hand to his face and then looked at it as if he expected to see blood. His initial fury quickly abated. He realized that Terese was right. Slowly he nodded.
   “Okay, now get to it,” Terese said. “I’ll be outside.”
   Terese strode to the door. “Do it quickly, but don’t make a mess,” she said. Then she was gone.
   Silence settled over the room. Richard didn’t move. He only turned the gun over slowly in his hands, as if he were inspecting it. Finally, Jack spoke up: “I don’t know whether I’d listen to her. You might face prison for the outbreaks if they can prove it was you behind them, but killing me like this in cold blood means the death penalty here in New York.”
   “Shut up,” Richard screamed. He rushed into the kitchen and assumed a shooting stance directly behind Jack.
   A full minute went by which seemed like an hour to Jack. He’d been holding his breath. Unable to hold it any longer, he exhaled—and immediately began coughing uncontrollably.
   The next thing he knew, Richard tossed the gun onto the kitchen table. Then he ran to the door. He opened it and shouted out into the night: “I can’t do it!”
   Almost immediately Terese reappeared. “You goddamned coward!” she told him.
   “Why don’t you do it yourself?” Richard spat back.
   Terese started to respond, but instead she strode to the kitchen table, snapped up the gun, and walked around to face Jack. Holding the pistol in both hands, she pointed it at his face. Jack stared back at her, directly into her eyes.
   The tip of the gun barrel began to waver. All at once Terese let out a barrage of profanity and threw the gun back onto the table.
   “Ah, iron woman isn’t as hard as she thought,” Richard taunted.
   “Shut up,” Terese said. She stalked back to the couch and sat down. Richard sat across from her. They eyed each other irritably.
   “This is becoming a bad joke,” she said.
   “I think we are all strung out,” Richard said.
   “That’s probably the first thing you’ve said that’s true,” Terese said. “I’m exhausted. What time is it?”
   “It’s after midnight,” Richard said.
   “No wonder,” Terese said. “I’ve got a headache.”
   “I’m not feeling so great myself,” Richard admitted.
   “Let’s sleep,” Terese said. “We’ll deal with this problem in the morning. Right now I can’t even see straight.”

   Jack woke up at four-thirty in the morning, shivering. The fire had gone out and the temperature in the room had fallen. The rag rug had provided some warmth. Jack had managed to pull it over him.
   The room was almost completely dark. Terese and Richard had not left on any lights when they’d retired to separate bedrooms. What little light there was drifted in from outside through the window over the sink. It was just enough for Jack to discern the vague shapes of the furniture.
   Jack didn’t know what made him feel worse: fear or the flu. At least his cough had not worsened. The rimantadine had seemingly protected him from developing primary influenza pneumonia.
   For a few minutes Jack allowed himself the luxury of contemplating being rescued. The problem was that the chances were minuscule. The only person who knew that the National Biologicals probe test was positive with the plague culture was Ted Lynch, not that he could know what it meant. Agnes might, but there was no reason for Ted to tell Agnes what he’d found.
   If rescue was not a viable possibility, then he’d have to rely on escape. With numb fingers Jack felt up and down the length of drainpipe to which he was shackled. He tried to feel for any imperfections, but there were none. He positioned the handcuffs at various heights and, with his feet against the pipes, pushed until the handcuffs cut into his skin. The pipes were there to stay.
   If he were to escape it would have to occur when he was allowed to go to the bathroom. How he would actually do it, he had no idea. All he could hope was that they’d become careless.
   Jack shuddered when he thought of what morning might bring. A good night’s sleep would only toughen Terese’s resolve. The fact that neither Terese nor Richard could shoot him in cold blood the night before was scant reassurance. As self-centered as they both were, he couldn’t bank on that continuing indefinitely.
   Using his legs, Jack succeeded in getting the rag rug to fold over him again. Settling down as best he could, he tried to rest. If an opportunity of escape presented itself, he hoped he’d be physically able to take full advantage of it.

34. Thursday, 8:15 a.m., March 28, 1996
Catskill Mountains, New York

   The hours had passed slowly and miserably for Jack. He’d not been able to fall back asleep. Nor could he even find a comfortable position with his shivering. When Richard finally staggered into the room with his hair standing on end, Jack was almost glad to see him.
   “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Jack called out.
   “You’ll have to wait for Terese to get up,” Richard said. He was busy rebuilding the fire.
   The door to Terese’s room opened a few minutes later. Terese was dressed in an old bathrobe; she didn’t look any better than Richard. Her normal helmet of highlighted curls looked more like a mop. She was without makeup, and the contrast with her normal appearance made her seem exceptionally pale.
   “I’ve still got my headache,” Terese complained. “And I slept lousy.”
   “Me too,” Richard said. “It’s the stress, and we never really had any dinner.”
   “But I’m not hungry,” Terese said. “I can’t understand it.”
   “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Jack repeated. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
   “Get the gun,” Terese said to Richard. “I’ll unlock the handcuffs.”
   Terese came into the kitchen and bent down to reach under the sink with the handcuff key.
   “Sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Jack said. “You should have joined me out here in the kitchen. It’s been delightful.”
   “I don’t want to hear any mouth from you,” Terese warned. “I’m not in the mood.”
   The handcuff snapped open. Jack rubbed his chafed wrist as he stiffly got to his feet. A wave of dizziness spread over him, forcing him to lean against the kitchen table. Terese quickly relocked the handcuff around Jack’s free wrist. Jack wouldn’t have been able to resist even if he’d had the intention.
   “Okay, march!” Richard said. He was training the gun on Jack.
   “In a second,” Jack said. The room was still spinning.
   “No tricks!” Terese said. She stepped away from him.
   As soon as he could, Jack walked to the bathroom on rubbery legs. The first order of business was to relieve himself. The second was to take a dose of the rimantadine with a long drink of water. Only then did he hazard a look in the mirror. What he saw surprised him. He wasn’t sure he would have recognized himself. He looked like a vagrant. His eyes were bright red and slightly swollen. Dried blood was on the left side of his face and spattered on the shoulder of his uniform shirt, apparently from the blow he’d received in the car at the tollbooth. His lip was swollen where Richard had split it. Dried mucus stuck to his formidable stubble.
   “Hurry up in there,” Terese commanded through the door.
   Jack ran water in the sink and washed his face. Using his index finger, he brushed his teeth. Then with a little water he smoothed his hair.
   “It’s about time,” Terese said when Jack emerged.
   Jack suppressed the urge to give a clever retort. He felt he was walking a tightrope with these people, and he didn’t want to push his luck. He hoped they wouldn’t lock him back to the kitchen drain, but the wish was in vain. He was marched right back to the sink and secured.
   “We should eat something,” Richard said.
   “I got cold cereal last night,” Terese said.
   “Fine,” Richard said.
   They sat at the table a mere four feet away from Jack. Terese ate very little. She again mentioned that she just wasn’t hungry. They didn’t offer any cereal to Jack.
   “Have you thought about what we’re going to do?” Richard asked.
   “What about those people who were supposed to kill Jack in the city? Who were they?”
   “It’s a gang from down where I live,” Richard said.
   “How do you contact them?” Terese asked.
   “I usually call them up or just go over to the building they occupy,” Richard said. “I’ve been dealing with a man called Twin.”
   “Well, let’s get him the hell up here,” Terese said.
   “He might come,” Richard said. “If the money is right.”
   “Call him,” Terese said. “How much were you going to pay them?”
   “Five hundred,” Richard said.
   “Offer him a thousand if you have to,” Terese said. “But say it’s a rush job and that he’s got to come today.”
   Richard scraped back his chair and went into the living room to get the phone. He brought it back to the kitchen table. He wanted her to listen in case they had to up the ante; he didn’t know how Twin would respond to the idea of coming all the way to the Catskills.
   Richard dialed and Twin answered. Richard told him he wanted to talk once again about knocking off the doctor.
   “Hey, man, we’re not interested,” Twin said.
   “I know there was trouble in the past,” Richard said. “But this time it will be a snap. We have him handcuffed and hidden away outside the city.”
   “If that’s the case, you don’t need us,” Twin said.
   “Wait!” Richard said hastily. He’d sensed Twin was about to hang up. “We still need you. In fact, to make it worth your while driving out here, we’ll pay double.”
   “A thousand bucks?” Twin asked.
   “You got it,” Richard said.
   “Don’t come, Twin,” Jack shouted. “It’s a setup!”
   “Shit!” Richard barked. He told Twin to hold the line for a second. In a fit of fury, Richard cracked Jack over the head with the butt of his gun.
   Jack closed his eyes hard enough to bring tears. The pain in his head was intense. Again he felt blood drip down the side of his scalp.
   “Was that the doc?” Twin asked.
   “Yeah, that was the doc,” Richard said angrily.
   “What did he mean, ‘setup’?” Twin asked.
   “Nothing,” Richard said. “He’s just running off at the mouth. We’ve got him handcuffed to the kitchen drainpipe.”
   “Let me get this straight,” Twin said. “You’re paying a thousand bucks for us to come out and ice the doc while he’s chained to a pipe.”
   “It’ll be a like a turkey shoot,” Richard assured him.
   “Where are you?” Twin asked.
   “About a hundred miles north of the city,” Richard said. “In the Catskills.”
   There was a pause.
   “What do you say?” Richard asked. “It’s easy money.”
   “Why don’t you do it yourself?” Twin asked.
   “That’s my business,” Richard said.
   “All right,” Twin said. “Give me directions. But if there is any funny stuff, you’ll be one unhappy dude.”
   Richard gave directions to get to the farmhouse and told Twin they’d be waiting for him.
   Richard slowly replaced the receiver while he looked triumphantly at Terese.
   “Well, thank God!” Terese said.
   “I’d better call in sick,” Richard said, picking up the phone again. “I should have been at work already.”
   After he finished his call Terese made a similar one to Colleen. Then she went to take a shower. Richard went to fill the wood box.
   Wincing against the pain, Jack pushed himself back to a sitting position. At least the bleeding had stopped. The prospect of the Black Kings’ arrival spelled doom. From bitter experience, Jack knew these gang members would have no qualms about shooting him no matter what state he was in.
   For a few seconds Jack lost total control of himself. Like a child in a temper tantrum he yanked inconsequentially at his shackles. All he managed to do was cut into his wrists and knock over some detergent containers. There was no way he was about to break either the drainpipe or the handcuffs.
   After the fit had passed, Jack slumped over and cried. But even that didn’t last long. Wiping his face on his left sleeve, he sighed and sat up. He knew he had to escape. On his next trip to the bathroom he’d have to try something. It was his only chance, and he didn’t have much time.
   Three-quarters of an hour later Terese reappeared in her clothes. She dragged herself to the couch and plopped down. Richard was on the other couch flipping through an old 1950s Life magazine.
   “I really don’t feel too good,” Terese admitted. “My headache is still killing me. I feel like I’m coming down with a cold.”
   “Me too,” Richard said without looking up.
   “I have to use the bathroom again,” Jack called out.
   Terese rolled her eyes. “Give me a break!” she said.
   No one moved or spoke for five minutes.
   “I suppose I can just let loose right here,” Jack said, breaking the silence.
   Terese sighed and threw her legs over the side of the couch. “Come on, stalwart warrior,” she said disparagingly to Richard.
   They used the same method as before. Terese unlocked the handcuffs while Richard stood poised with the gun.
   “Do I really need these handcuffs while I’m in the bathroom?” Jack asked when Terese started to relock them.
   “Absolutely,” Terese said.
   Once inside the bathroom Jack took another rimantadine and a long drink of water. Then, leaving the water running, he stepped on the closed toilet seat, grasped the window trim with both hands, and began to pull. He increased the pressure to see if the window casing would come loose.
   Just then the door opened.
   “Get down from there!” Terese snarled.
   Jack stepped down from the toilet and cringed. He was afraid that Richard was about to hit him on the head again. Instead Richard just crowded into the bathroom, holding the gun out in front of him trained on Jack’s face. The gun was cocked.
   “Just give me a reason to shoot,” he hissed.
   For a second no one moved. Then Terese ordered Jack back to the kitchen sink.
   “Can’t you think of another place?” Jack said. “I’m getting tired of the view.”
   “Don’t push me,” Terese warned.
   With the cocked gun just a few feet away, there was nothing Jack could do. In a matter of seconds he was handcuffed to the drainpipe yet again.
   A half hour later Terese decided to go out to the store to get some aspirin and some soup. She asked Richard if he wanted anything. He told her to get some ice cream; he thought it might feel good on his sore throat.
   After Terese had left, Jack told Richard that he had to go to the bathroom again.
   “Yeah, sure,” Richard said without budging from the couch.
   “I do,” Jack averred. “I didn’t get to go last time.”
   Richard gave a short laugh. “Tough shit,” he said. “It was your own fault.”
   “Come on,” Jack said. “It will only take a minute.”
   “Listen!” Richard yelled. “If I come in there it will be to crack you over the head again. Understand?”
   Jack understood all too well.
   Twenty minutes later Jack heard the unmistakable sound of a car approaching along the gravel drive. He felt a rush of adrenaline in his system. Was it the Black Kings? His panic returned, and he stared forlornly at the unbudgable drainpipe.
   The door opened. To Jack’s relief it was Terese. She dropped a bag of groceries on the kitchen table, then retreated to the couch and lay down and closed her eyes. She told Richard to put the groceries away.
   Richard got up without enthusiasm. He put what had to be kept cold in the refrigerator and the ice cream in the freezer. Then he placed the cans of soup in the cupboard. In the bottom of the bag he found aspirin and a bunch of small cellophane-wrapped packages of peanut-butter crackers.
   “You might give some of the crackers to Jack,” Terese said.
   Richard looked down at Jack. “You want some?” he asked.
   Jack nodded. Although he still felt ill, his appetite had returned. He’d not eaten anything since the deli food in the van.
   Richard fed Jack peanut butter crackers whole, like a mother bird dropping food into a waiting chick’s gaping mouth. Jack hungrily devoured five of them and then asked for water.
   “For chrissake!” Richard voiced. He was annoyed this job had fallen to him.
   “Give it to him,” Terese said.
   Reluctantly Richard did as he was told. After a long drink Jack thanked him. Richard told Jack to thank Terese, not him.
   “Bring me a couple of aspirin and some water,” Terese said.
   Richard rolled his eyes. “What am I, the servant?”
   “Just do it,” Terese said petulantly.
   Three-quarters of an hour later another car could be heard coming up the driveway.
   “Finally,” Richard said as he tossed a magazine aside and heaved himself off the couch. “They must have driven by way of Philadelphia, for chrissake.” He headed for the door while Terese pushed herself up to a sitting position.
   Jack swallowed nervously. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. He realized he didn’t have long to live.
   Richard pulled open the door. “Shit!” he voiced.
   Terese sat bolt upright. “What’s the matter?”
   “It’s Henry, the goddamn caretaker!” Richard croaked. “What are we going to do?”
   “You cover Jack!” Terese barked in panic. “I’ll talk to Henry.” She stood up and swayed for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Then she went out the door.
   Richard dashed over to Jack. En route he’d picked up the gun, which he now held by the barrel as if it were a hatchet. “One word and so help me I’ll bash your head in,” he growled.
   Jack looked up at Richard. He could see the man’s determination. Outside he could hear a car come to a stop followed by the muffled sound of Terese’s voice.
   Jack was faced with an unreasonable quandary. He could yell, but how much sound he could make before being incapacitated by Richard was questionable. Yet if he didn’t try, he’d soon be facing the Black Kings and certain death. He decided to go for it.
   Jack put his head back and started to scream for help. As expected, Richard brought the handle of his gun crashing down on Jack’s forehead. Jack’s scream was cut off before he could form any words. A merciful darkness intervened with the suddenness of a light being switched off.

  Jack regained consciousness in stages. The first thing he was aware of was that his eyes wouldn’t open. But after a struggle the right one did, and a minute later so did the left. When he wiped his face on his sleeve he realized that his lids had been sealed together with coagulated blood.
   With his forearm, Jack could feel that he had a sizable lump centered at his hairline. He knew it was a good place to be hit if you had to take a wallop. That part of the skull was by far the thickest.
   He blinked to clear his vision and looked at his watch. It was just after four, a fact confirmed by the anemic quality of the late-afternoon sunlight coming through the window over the sink.
   Jack glanced around the living room, which he could see from under the kitchen table. The fire had burned down significantly. Terese and Richard were sprawled on their respective couches.
   Jack changed his position and in the process tipped over a container of window cleaner.
   “What’s he doing now?” Richard asked.
   “Who the hell cares,” Terese said. “What time is it?”
   “It’s after four,” Richard said.
   “Where are these gang friends of yours?” Terese demanded. “Are they coming by bicycle?”
   “Should I call and check?” Richard asked.
   “No, let’s just wait here for a week,” Terese said irritably.
   Richard put the phone on his chest and dialed. When the phone was answered he had to ask for Twin. After a long wait Twin came on the line.
   “Why the hell aren’t you here?” Richard complained. “We’ve been waiting all day.”
   “I’m not coming, man,” Twin said.
   “But you said you were,” Richard rejoined.
   “I can’t do it, man,” Twin said. “I can’t come.”
   “Not even for a thousand dollars?”
   “Nope,” Twin said.
   “But why?” Richard demanded.
   “ ’Cause I gave my word,” Twin said.
   “You gave your word? What does that mean?” Richard asked.
   “Just what I said,” Twin said. “Don’t you understand English?”
   “But this is ridiculous,” Richard said.
   “Hey, it’s your party,” Twin said. “You have to do your own shit.”
   Richard found himself holding a dead telephone. He slammed the receiver down. “That worthless bum,” he spat. “He won’t do it. I can’t believe it.”
   Terese pushed herself up into a sitting position. “So much for that idea. That puts us back to square one.”
   “Don’t look at me. I’m not doing it,” Richard snapped. “I’ve made that crystal clear. It’s up to you, sister. Hell, all this was for your benefit, not mine.”
   “Supposedly,” Terese retorted. “But you got some perverted enjoyment out of it. You finally got to use those bugs you’ve been playing with all your life. Yet now you can’t do this simple thing. You’re some sort of…” She struggled for the word: “Degenerate!” she said finally.
   “Well, you’re no Snow White yourself,” Richard yelled. “No wonder that husband of yours left you.”
   Terese’s face flushed. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Suddenly she lunged for the gun.
   Richard took a step backward. He feared he’d overdone it by mentioning the unmentionable. For a second he thought Terese was about to use the gun on him. But instead she flew into the kitchen, cocking the gun as she went. She stepped up to Jack and pointed the gun at his bloodied face.
   “Turn away!” she commanded.
   Jack felt as if his heart had stopped. He looked up the quivering barrel and into Terese’s arctic blue eyes. He was paralyzed, incapable of following her command.
   “Damn you!” Terese said through a sudden flood of tears.
   Uncocking the gun, she tossed it aside, then rushed back to the couch to bury her head in her hands. She was sobbing.
   Richard felt guilty. He knew he shouldn’t have said what he had. Losing her baby and then her husband was his sister’s Achilles’ heel. Meekly he went over to her and sat on the edge of the couch.
   “I didn’t mean it,” Richard said, stroking her back gently. “It slipped out. I’m not myself.”
   Terese sat up and wiped her eyes. “I’m not myself either,” she admitted. “I can’t believe these tears. I’m a wreck. I feel awful too. Now my throat’s sore.”
   “You want another aspirin?” Richard asked.
   Terese shook her head. “What do you think Twin meant about giving his word?” she asked.
   “I don’t know,” Richard said. “That’s why I asked him.”
   “Why didn’t you offer him more money?” Terese said.
   “He didn’t give me a chance,” Richard said. “He hung up.”
   “Well, call him back,” Terese said. “We have to get out of here.”
   “How much should I offer?” Richard said. “I don’t have the kind of money you have.”
   “Whatever it takes,” Terese said. “At this point money shouldn’t be a limiting factor.”
   Richard picked up the phone and dialed. This time when he asked for Twin he was told Twin was out. He wouldn’t be back for an hour. Richard hung up.
   “We have to wait,” he said.
   “What else is new?” Terese commented.
   Terese lay back on the couch and pulled a crocheted afghan over her. She shivered. “Is it getting cold in here or is it just me?” she asked.
   “I had a couple of chills myself,” Richard said. He went to the fire and piled on more logs. Then he got a blanket from his bedroom before reclining on his couch. He tried to read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He was intermittently shivering despite the blanket. “I just thought of a new worry,” he said.
   “What now?” Terese asked. Her eyes were closed.
   “Jack’s been sneezing and coughing. You don’t think he was exposed to my flu strain, the one I put in the humidifier?”
   With the blanket wrapped around him, Richard got up and went into the kitchen and asked Jack about it. Jack didn’t answer.
   “Come on, Doc,” Richard urged. “Don’t make me have to hit you again.”
   “What difference does it make?” Terese called from the couch.
   “It makes a lot of difference,” Richard said. “There’s a good chance my strain was the strain that caused the great flu epidemic of 1918. I got it in Alaska from a couple of frozen Eskimos who died of pneumonia. The time frame was right.”
   Terese joined him in the kitchen. “Now you’re getting me worried,” she said. “Do you think he has it and has exposed us?”
   “It’s possible,” Richard said.
   “That’s terrifying!” She looked down at Jack. “Well?” she demanded. “Were you exposed?”
   Jack wasn’t sure if he should admit to his exposure or not. He didn’t know which would anger them more. The truth or his silence.
   “I don’t like it that he’s not answering,” Richard said.
   “He’s a medical examiner,” Terese said. “He had to have been exposed. They brought the dead people to him. He told me on the phone.”
   “I’m not afraid of that,” Richard said. “The exposure to worry about is to a living, breathing, sneezing, coughing person, not a dead body.”
   “Medical examiners don’t take care of live people,” Terese said. “All their patients are dead.”
   “That’s true,” Richard admitted.
   “Besides,” Terese said, “Jack is hardly sick. He’s got a cold. Big deal. Wouldn’t he be really ill by now if he’d contracted your flu bug?”
   “You’re right,” Richard said. “I’m not thinking straight; if he had the 1918 flu bug he’d be flat out by now.”
   Brother and sister returned to their couches and collapsed.
   “I can’t take much more of this,” Terese said. “Especially the way I feel.”
   At five-fifteen, exactly one hour after the previous call, Richard phoned Twin. This time Twin himself picked up.
   “What the hell are you pestering me for?” Twin asked.
   “I want to offer more money,” Richard said. “Obviously a thousand wasn’t enough. I understand. It’s a long drive up here. How much are you looking for?”
   “You didn’t understand me, did you?” Twin said irritably. “I told you I couldn’t do it. That’s it. Game’s over.”
   “Two thousand,” Richard said. He looked over at Terese. She nodded.
   “Hey, man, are you deaf or what?” Twin said. “How many times…”
   “Three thousand,” Richard said, and Terese again nodded.
   “Three thousand bucks?” Twin repeated.
   “That’s correct,” Richard said.
   “You are sounding desperate,” Twin said.
   “We’re willing to pay three thousand dollars,” Richard said. “That should speak for itself.”
   “Hmmm,” Twin said. “And you say you have the doc handcuffed.”
   “Exactly,” Richard said. “It will be a piece of cake.”
   “I tell you what,” Twin said. “I’ll send someone up there tomorrow morning.”
   “You’re not going to do what you did this morning, are you?” Richard asked.
   “No,” Twin said. “I guarantee I’ll have someone up there to take care of things.”
   “For three thousand,” Richard said. He wanted to be sure they understood each other.
   “Three thousand will be just fine,” Twin said.
   Richard replaced the receiver and looked over at Terese.
   “Do you believe him?” she asked.
   “This time he guaranteed it,” Richard said. “And when Twin guarantees something, it happens. He’ll be here in the morning. I’m confident.”
   Terese sighed. “Thank God for small favors,” she said.
   Jack wasn’t so relieved. His panic rekindled, he determined he had to find a way to escape that night. Morning would bring the apocalypse.
   Afternoon dragged into evening. Terese and Richard fell asleep. Unattended, the fire died down. A chill came with the darkness. Jack wracked his brains for ideas of escape, but unless he was freed from the drainpipe, he didn’t see how he could get away.
   Around seven both Richard and Terese began to cough in their sleep. At first they seemed more to be clearing their throats than coughing, but soon the hacking became more forceful and productive. Jack considered the development significant. It gave support to a concern he’d been harboring since they both began complaining of chills: namely, that they had caught the dreaded flu from him just as Richard suspected.
   Thinking back to the long car ride from the city, Jack realized it would have been hard for them not to have contracted his illness. During the ride Jack’s symptoms were peaking, and symptoms of the flu often peaked with maximum viral production. Each of Jack’s sneezes and coughs had undoubtedly sent millions of the infective virions into the car’s confined space.
   Still, Jack couldn’t be sure. Besides, his real worry was facing the Black Kings in the morning. He had more pressing concerns than the health of his captors.
   Jack yanked futilely at the drain with the short chain between the handcuffs. All he succeeded in doing was to make a racket and abrade his wrists more than they already were.
   “Shut up!” Richard yelled after having been awakened by the clamor. He switched on a table lamp, then was immediately overwhelmed by a fit of coughing.
   “What’s happening?” Terese asked groggily.
   “The animal is restless,” Richard rasped. “God, I need some water.” He sat up, waited for a moment, then got to his feet. “I’m dizzy,” he said. “I might even have a fever.”
   He walked hesitantly into the kitchen and got a glass. As he was filling it, Jack thought about knocking his legs out from under him. But he decided that would only win him another blow to the head.
   “I have to go to the bathroom,” Jack said.
   “Shut up,” Richard said.
   “It’s been a long time,” Jack said. “It’s not as if I’m asking to go for a run in the yard. And if I don’t go, it’s going to be unpleasant around here.”
   Richard shook his head in resignation. After he took a drink of water, he called out to Terese that her services were needed. Then he got the gun from the kitchen table.
   Jack heard Richard cock the gun. The move narrowed Jack’s options.
   Terese appeared with the key. Jack noticed her eyes had a glazed, feverish look. She bent down under the sink and unlocked one side of the handcuffs without a word. She backed away as Jack got to his feet. As before, the room swam before his eyes. Some escape artist, he thought cynically. He was weak from lack of food, sleep, and liquids. Terese relocked the handcuffs.
   Richard marched directly behind Jack with the gun at the ready. There was nothing that Jack could do. When he got to the bathroom he tried to close the door.
   “Sorry,” Terese said, using her foot to block it. “You lost that privilege.”
   Jack looked from one to the other. He could tell there was no use arguing. He shrugged and turned around to relieve himself. When he was finished he motioned toward the sink. “How about my washing my face,” he asked.
   “If you must,” Terese said. She coughed but then held herself in check. It was obvious her throat was sore.
   Jack stepped to the sink, which was out of the line of Terese’s sight. After turning on the water, Jack surreptitiously got out his rimantadine and took one of the tablets. In his haste he almost dropped the vial before getting it back into his pocket.
   He glanced at himself in the mirror and recoiled. He looked significantly worse than he had that morning, thanks to the new laceration high on his forehead. It was gaping and needed stitches if it was to heal without a scar. Jack laughed at himself. What a time to worry about cosmetics!
   The trip back to the spot of Jack’s internment was without incident. There were a few moments when Jack was tempted to try something, but each time his courage failed him. By the time Jack was again locked up under the sink he felt disappointed in himself and correspondingly despondent. He had the disheartening sense that he’d just let his last chance of escape slip by.
   “Do you want any soup?” Terese asked Richard.
   “I’m really not hungry,” Richard admitted. “All I want is a couple of aspirin. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
   “I’m not hungry either,” Terese said. “This is more than a cold. I’m sure I have a fever too. Do you think we should be worried?”
   “Obviously we’ve got what Jack has,” Richard said. “I guess he’s just more stoic. Anyway, we’ll see a doctor tomorrow after Twin’s visit if we think we should. Who knows, maybe a night’s sleep is all we need.”
   “Let me have a couple of those aspirins,” Terese said.
   After taking their analgesic Terese and Richard returned to the living room. Richard spent a few moments building up the dying fire. Terese made herself as comfortable as possible on her couch. Soon Richard went back to his. They both seemed exhausted.
   Jack was surer than ever that both his captors had the deadly strain of the flu. He didn’t know what his ethics dictated he do. The problem was his rimantadine, and the fact that it possibly could thwart the flu’s progress. Jack agonized silently over whether he should tell them of his exposure and talk them into taking the drug to potentially save their lives even though they were totally committed to ending his and were responsible for the deaths of other innocent victims. With that in mind, did he owe Terese and Richard compassion in the face of their callous indifference? Should his oath as a physician prevail?
   Jack took no comfort at the notion of poetic justice being done. Yet if he shared the rimantadine with them, they might deny it to him. After all, they weren’t choosy about the way he died as long as it wasn’t directly by their hand.
   Jack sighed. It was an impossible decision. He couldn’t choose. But not making a decision was, in effect, a decision. Jack understood its ramifications.
   By nine o’clock Terese’s and Richard’s breathing had become stertorous, punctuated by frequent coughing episodes. Terese’s condition seemed worse than Richard’s. Around ten a markedly violent fit of coughing woke Terese up, and she moaned for Richard.
   “What’s the matter?” Richard questioned lethargically.
   “I’m feeling worse,” Terese said. “I need some water and another aspirin.”
   Richard got up and woozily made his way into the kitchen. He gave Jack a halfhearted kick to move him out of the way. Needing little encouragement, Jack scrambled to the side as much as his shackled hands would allow. Richard filled a glass with water and stumbled back to Terese.
   Terese sat up to take the aspirin and the water, while Richard helped support the glass. When she was finished with the water, she pushed the glass away and wiped her mouth with her hand. Her movements were jerky. “With the way I’m feeling, do you think we should head back to the city tonight?” she questioned.
   “We have to wait for morning,” Richard said. “As soon as Twin comes we’ll be off. Besides, I’m too sleepy to drive now anyway.”
   “You’re right,” Terese said as she flopped back. “At the moment I don’t think I could stand the drive either. Not with this cough. It’s hard to catch my breath.”
   “Sleep it off,” Richard said. “I’ll leave the rest of the water right here next to you.” He put the glass on the coffee table.
   “Thanks,” Terese murmured.
   Richard made his way back to his couch and collapsed. He drew the blanket up around his neck and sighed loudly.
   Time dragged, and with it Terese and Richard’s congested breathing slowly got worse. By ten-thirty Jack noticed that Terese’s respiration was labored. Even from as far away as the kitchen he could see that her lips had become dusky. He was amazed she’d not awakened. He guessed the aspirin had brought her fever down.
   In spite of his ambivalence, Jack was finally moved to say something. He called out to Richard and told him Terese didn’t sound or look good.
   “Shut up!” Richard yelled back between coughs.
   Jack stayed silent for another half hour. By then he was convinced he could hear faint popping noises at the end of each of Terese’s inspirations that sounded like moist rales. If they were, it was an ominous sign, suggesting to Jack that Terese was slipping into acute respiratory distress.
   “Richard!” Jack called out, despite Richard’s warning to stay quiet. “Terese is getting worse.”
   There was no response.
   “Richard!” Jack called louder.
   “What?” Richard answered sluggishly.
   “I think your sister needs to be in an intensive care unit,” Jack said.
   Richard didn’t respond.
   “I’m warning you,” Jack called. “I’m a doctor, after all, and I should know. If you don’t do something it’s going to be your fault.”
   Jack had hit a nerve, and to his surprise Richard leaped off the couch in a fit of rage. “My fault?” he snarled. “It’s your fault for giving us whatever we have!” Frantically he looked for the gun, but he couldn’t remember what he’d done with it after Jack’s last visit to the bathroom.
   The search for the pistol only lasted for a few seconds. Richard suddenly grabbed his head with both hands and moaned about his headache. Then he swayed before collapsing back onto the couch.
   Jack sighed with relief. Touching off a fit of rage in Richard had not been expected. He tried not to imagine what might have happened had the gun been handy.
   Jack resigned himself to the horror of witnessing the spectacle of a virulently pathogenic influenza wreaking its havoc. With Terese’s and Richard’s rapidly worsening clinical state, he recalled stories that had been told about the terrible influenza pandemic of 1918-19. People were said to have boarded a subway in Brooklyn with mild symptoms, only to be dead by the time they’d reached their destination in Manhattan. When Jack had heard such stories he’d assumed they had been exaggerations. But now that he was being forced to observe Terese and Richard, he no longer thought so. Their swift deterioration was a frightening display of the power of contagion.
   By one A.M. Richard’s breathing was as labored as Terese’s had been. Terese was now frankly cyanotic and barely breathing. By four Richard was cyanotic, and Terese was dead. At six A.M. Richard made a few feeble gurgling sounds and then stopped breathing.

35. Friday, 8:00 a.m., March 29, 1996

   Morning came slowly. At first pale fingers of sunlight tentatively limned the edge of the porcelain sink. From where Jack was sitting he could see a spiderweb of leafless tree branches against the gradually brightening sky. He hadn’t slept a wink.
   When the room was completely filled with morning light, Jack hazarded a look over his shoulder. It was not a pretty scene. Terese and Richard were both dead, with bloody froth exuding from their dusky blue lips. Both had started to bloat slightly, particularly Terese. Jack assumed it was from the heat of the fire, which was now reduced to mere embers.
   Jack looked back despairingly at the drainpipe that so effectively nailed him to his spot. It was an inconceivable predicament. Twin and his Black Kings were probably now on their way. Even without the three thousand dollars, the gang had ample reason to kill him given his role in two of their members’ deaths.
   Throwing back his head, Jack screamed at the top of his voice for help. He knew it was futile and soon stopped when he was out of breath. He rattled the handcuffs against the brass pipe, and even put his head in under the sink to examine the lead seal where the brass pipe joined the cast-iron pipe below the trap. With a fingernail he tried to dig into the lead, but without result.
   Eventually Jack sat back. His anxiety was enervating, coupled with his lack of sleep, food, and water. It was hard to think clearly, but he had to try; he didn’t have much time.
   Jack considered the faint possibility that the Black Kings wouldn’t show up as they’d failed to show the day before, yet that prospect wasn’t any rosier. Jack would be sentenced to an agonizing death from exposure and lack of water. Of course, if he couldn’t take his rimantadine, the flu might get him first.
   Jack fought back tears. How could he have been so stupid to have allowed himself to get caught in such an impossible situation? He chided himself for his inane heroic crusade idea, and the juvenile thought of wanting to prove something to himself. He’d been as reckless in this episode as he’d been each day he’d ridden his bike down Second Avenue thumbing his nose at death.
   Two hours passed before Jack heard the faint beginnings of the dread sound: the crackling of car tires on gravel. The Black Kings had arrived.
   In a fit of panic, Jack repeatedly kicked the drainpipe as he’d done numerous times over the previous day and a half with the same result.
   He stopped and listened again. The car was closer. Jack looked at the sink. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. The sink was a huge, old cast-iron monstrosity with a large bowl and expansive drainage area for dishes. Jack imagined it weighed several hundred pounds. It was hung on the wall in addition to being supported by the heavy drain.
   Getting his feet under him, Jack rested the underlip of the sink on his biceps and tried to pry the sink upward. It moved slightly and bits of mortar at the sink’s junction with the wall fell into the bowl.
   Jack twisted like a contortionist to put his right foot against the sink’s lip. He could hear the car come to a halt the moment he pushed with his leg. There was a cracking sound. Jack positioned himself so that both his feet were under the edge of the sink. Straining with all his might, he exerted the maximum force he could muster.
   With a snap and a grinding sound the sink detached from the wall. A bit of plaster rained down on Jack’s face. Unattached, the sink teetered on the drain.
   With another thrust of his legs, Jack got the sink to fall forward. The copper water-supply pipes snapped off at their soldered ends and water began spraying. The drain remained intact until the lead seal gave way. At that moment the brass pipe slipped out of the cast iron. The sink made an enormous crashing noise as it crushed a ladder-back chair before thumping heavily on the wooden floor.
   Jack was soaked from the spraying water, but he was free! He scrambled to his feet as heavy footfalls sounded on the front porch. He knew the door was unlocked and that the Black Kings would be inside in a moment. They’d undoubtedly heard the crash of the sink.
   With no time to look for the pistol Jack lunged for the back door. Frantically he fumbled with the deadbolt and threw the door open. In an instant he was outside, hurling himself down the few steps to the dew-covered grass.
   Hunching down to stay out of view, Jack ran from the house as fast as he could manage with his hands still handcuffed. Ahead was a pond. It occupied the area he’d imagined was a field on his arrival the previous night. To the left of the pond and about a hundred feet from the house stood the barn. Jack ran to it. It was his only hope of a hiding place. The surrounding forest was barren and leafless.
   With heart pounding, Jack reached the barn door. To his relief it was unlocked. He yanked it open, dashed inside, and pulled it closed behind him.
   The interior of the barn was dark, dank, and uninviting. The only light came through a single, west-facing window. The rusted remains of an old tractor loomed in the half-light.
   With utter panic Jack stumbled around in the darkness searching for a hiding place. His eyes began to adjust. He looked into several deserted animal stalls, but there was no way to conceal himself. There was a loft above, but it was devoid of hay.
   Looking down at the plank flooring, Jack vainly looked for a trapdoor, but there wasn’t any. In the very back of the barn there was a small room filled with garden tools but still no place to hide. Jack was about to give up when he spotted a low wooden chest the size of a coffin. He ran to it and raised its hinged lid. Inside were malodorous bags of fertilizer.
   Jack’s blood ran cold. Outside he heard a male voice yell: “Hey, man, around here! There’s tracks in the grass!”
   With little other choice Jack emptied the chest of the bags of fertilizer. Then he climbed in and lowered the lid.
   Shivering from fear and the damp cold, Jack was still perspiring. His breaths were coming in short gasps. He tried to calm down. If the hiding place was to work, he’d have to be silent.
   It wasn’t long before he heard the door to the barn creak open followed by the sound of muffled voices. Footsteps sounded on the plank flooring. Then there was a crash as something was overturned. Jack heard curses. Then another crash.
   “You got your machine pistol cocked?” one husky voice said.
   “What’d you think I am, stupid?” another replied.
   Jack heard footsteps approach. He held his breath, tried to contain his shivering, and fought the urge to cough. There was a pause, then the footsteps receded. Jack allowed himself to breathe out.
   “Somebody’s in here, I’m sure of it,” a voice said.
   “Shut up and keep looking,” the other answered.
   Without warning the cover to Jack’s hiding place was whisked open. It happened with such unexpected suddenness, Jack was totally unprepared. He let out a muffled screech. The black man looking down at him did the same, letting the lid slam back into place.
   The lid was quickly yanked open again. Jack could see that the man was holding a machine pistol in his free hand. On his head was a black knit cap.
   Jack and the black man locked eyes for a moment, then the man looked toward his partner.
   “It’s the doc all right,” he called out. “He’s here in a box.”
   Jack was afraid to move. He heard footsteps approaching. He tried to prepare himself for Twin’s mocking smile. But Jack’s expectations weren’t met. When he looked up, it wasn’t Twin’s face he saw; it was Warren’s!
   “Shit, Doc,” Warren said. “You look like you fought the Vietnam War all by yourself.”
   Jack swallowed. He looked at the other man and now recognized him as one of the basketball regulars. Jack’s eyes darted back to Warren. Jack was confused, afraid this was all a hallucination.
   “Come on, Doc,” Warren said, reaching a hand toward Jack. “Get the hell out of the box so we can see if the rest of you looks as bad as your face.”
   Jack allowed himself to be helped to stand up. He stepped out onto the floor. He was soaking wet from the broken water pipes.
   “Well, everything else looks like it’s in working order,” Warren said. “But you don’t smell great. And we’ve got to get these cuffs off.”
   “How did you get here?” Jack asked, finally finding his voice.
   “We drove,” Warren said. “How’d you think we got here? The subway?”
   “But I expected the Black Kings,” Jack said. “A guy by the name of Twin.”
   “Sorry to disappoint you, man,” Warren said. “You’ve got to settle for me.”
   “I don’t understand,” Jack said.
   “Twin and I made a deal,” Warren said. “We called a truce so there’d be no more brothers shooting brothers. Part of the terms were that they wouldn’t ice you. Then Twin called me and told me you were being held up here and that if I wanted to save your ass, I’d better get mine up to the mountains. So here we are: the cavalry.”
   “Good Lord!” Jack said, shaking his head. It was unsettling to learn how much one’s fate was in the hands of others.
   “Hey, those people back in the house don’t look so good,” Warren said. “And they smell worse than you. How’d they happen to die?”
   “Influenza,” Jack said.
   “No shit!” Warren said. “So it’s up here too. I heard about it on the news last night. There’s a lot of people down in the city all revved up about it.”
   “And for good reason,” Jack said. “I think you’d better tell me what you’ve heard.”