Pandemic

by Robin Cook

  He got no response from anyone. The man who had done the talking was sitting in the front passenger seat. Besides the two men next to Jack, there was a fifth man in the third-row seat. It seemed unnatural that all these men were so silent. It was just the same as when Jack had been driven from the hospital to Wei Zhao’s house with the GeneRx security people. Jack found it extraordinary. Verbal communication was as natural to Jack as breathing.

  “You people seem preternaturally quiet,” Jack said. “Is it me or are you always so silent?” There was no response.

  Eventually even Jack gave up, and he, too, rode in silence until they turned into the entrance of Dr. Wei Zhao’s commercial complex. As they were passing the turnoff to the hospital, Jack said, “I’d much rather go to Dover Valley, if you don’t mind.” As he expected, they ignored him.

  A few minutes later they stopped at the gatehouse leading within the compound to GeneRx and the Farm Institute. As soon as the driver lowered the window, Jack shouted out that he was not a willing visitor and was being brought in against his will. “Help! Please call the local police,” he yelled.

  The people in the gatehouse ignored him, as did the other occupants of the vehicle. It was apparent everyone knew one another by sight. After the driver was given several keys, the van pulled ahead and the driver raised his window. Jack looked longingly at the GeneRx building as they passed. He felt he wanted to go anywhere but the Farm Institute. He was absolutely certain he didn’t want to be put into an animal pen.

  To Jack’s surprise, the van did not stop at the Farm Institute’s administration entrance, where Jack had entered on his brief tour the day before. Instead, they drove all the way along the front of the building and then rounded its end. Then they drove the length of one of the wings that stuck off the back and couldn’t be seen from the front. Jack could now appreciate that there were three wings in total, such that the Farm Institute’s footprint was a letter E.

  The SUV came to a halt at the end of the wing where several semi-trailers were parked off to the side. As the guards climbed out of the front of the van, Jack tried to figure out what part of the institute they had stopped at, but there was no signage whatsoever. There was a normal entrance door, as well as a receiving dock with a large overhead door. The only windows in that portion of the two-story wing were up high under the eaves.

  The sliding door of the van opened, and Jack was helped out. “How about removing my handcuffs?” he suggested, once he was standing on the macadam of the driveway.

  “When we have you in the pen, we will remove them,” the guard said. The entire group walked to the door, where the driver used the key given to him at the gatehouse. Inside was a dark, windowless office. Everyone filed in after the light was turned on.

  “Keep going,” the guard said, as he pointed toward another door in the back of the room behind the desks.

  The second room was cavernous and had a mildly disagreeable smell. It was filled with a significant amount of assembly-line-like machinery, with an overhead conveyor system whose function Jack did not immediately recognize. Although some natural light spilled in from the windows high on the walls, it wasn’t enough to provide much ambient light down on the floor, and the machinery cast weird and grotesque shadows.

  “This way,” the guard said, pointing off toward the left in the direction of the main part of the institute. Jack followed several of the other guards who had gone ahead. After walking several hundred feet, they came upon a huge, heavy wire-mesh enclosure that extended off into the distance. A moment later they approached an embedded door made of the same material. Inside the cage, the floor was covered with what appeared to be sawdust.

  “What is this building for?” Jack asked, unsure if he’d get an answer.

  “It’s the slaughterhouse,” the guard said.

  “Oh, wonderful,” Jack said sarcastically. He’d been told about the slaughterhouse by Ted Markham and Stephen Friedlander back when they were acting as if they were trying to impress him. Now he was getting to see it much more intimately than he would have liked. It occurred to him that the hulking machinery they’d been passing was for processing and butchering animals.

  The van driver used another key to open the mesh door. The hinges made an agonized creaking sound, as if they hadn’t been opened in years.

  “Turn around,” the guard said.

  As Jack turned around he noticed the man with the Taser had unsheathed his weapon, just in case. Jack had no intention of getting Tased a second time.

  “Okay, inside!” the guard said after removing the cuffs and pointing into the interior of the huge coop.

  Jack glanced through the door. The cage was about ten feet wide and ten feet high. To the right, it terminated after thirty feet or so, while to the left, it disappeared off into hazy darkness. It was hardly inviting, and as the understatement of the year, he was not inclined to go inside. “What is this cage for?” he asked, in an attempt to stall, even though he had a pretty good idea it was to hold animals before the slaughter.

  “Inside,” the guard said, giving him a shove to the small of the back.

  Jack had to step up and duck down at the same time to enter. Behind him, he heard the hinges complain again prior to a loud mechanical click as the door shut and locked. Jack turned around. The guards were already leaving.

  “Hey!” Jack called. “How long am I going to be here?” But the men didn’t answer. They didn’t even turn around. Eventually he heard the door to the office close. Then there was a heavy stillness.

  Turning back around, Jack looked first to the right. Only ten to fifteen feet away he could see that the cage narrowed such that animals being herded in that direction would be forced into single file to facilitate them being killed and then hoisted up onto the conveyor system to be hacked into various cuts of meat. Turning again, he looked in the opposite direction. That way, the cage progressively widened before vanishing into a murky nothingness.

  41

  THURSDAY, 3:15 P.M.

  “You utter fool!” Jack was vaguely aware of voicing the words aloud as he berated himself for his lunatic behavior. He questioned how he could have been so stupid as to allow himself to be isolated in a fortified home and get into an actual physical brawl with its paranoid billionaire bodybuilder proprietor when he clearly knew there were shenanigans afoot. At the same time, he understood that his emotions had been stretched to the breaking point over the last few days, culminating in his having been put on administrative leave that morning. It had been his job and only his job that had been keeping him psychologically grounded.

  The first thing that Jack did was look closely at the embedded door. He was able to immediately appreciate that the locking mechanism required a key on the inside as well as on the outside. There was no handle or latch of any sort. He hit the lock a few times with the base of his fist to sense how loose the latch bolt was within the strike plate. It wasn’t loose at all. Next, he used a fingernail to feel how tightly the separation was between the lock’s face plate and the strike plate. It was well engineered and tight, so there was no chance of using the old credit-card trick. Next, by embedding his fingers in the wire mesh, he tried to shake the door. It didn’t budge. He imagined it had been built to withstand mistreatment by a two-thousand-pound bull, and he gave up on trying to get it open.

  Turning around, he again glanced up and down the expansive animal cage and struggled with a sense of impotence. The chances of him being able to free himself from his current predicament were dimming rapidly from possible to probably not. Wei had said that Jack wasn’t going to be heading back to the city at the moment, but what did that actually mean? How long might he have to wait? And why was he waiting at all?

  Although Jack had been trying to avoid thinking about it by using denial, he was now forced to consider that maybe Wei was not thinking of letting him go at all. In his attempt to win Jack over, Wei had told
him everything they had been doing to corner the market in providing custom-made human organs for transplant grown in pigs. In a very real sense, Jack now knew too much. Maybe the reason he’d been isolated so far out of sight was to see if there were any inquiries whatsoever as to his whereabouts. If there weren’t, then they could do with him whatever they wanted.

  With a shiver of fear, Jack recognized that there might have been a specific reason he had been put where he was. He remembered being told that the facility was not only a slaughterhouse but also a rendering plant, or what was known in the industry as an integrated facility. In such a place, an entire animal, composed of bones, teeth, fur, guts, hooves, fat, blood, and muscle, could be turned into useful products. Suddenly Jack could imagine himself becoming dog food and bars of soap. To make someone totally disappear, there was no better place.

  With a sudden new sense of urgency, Jack began a rapid inspection tour of his lockup in hopes of finding a way out. He first walked to the left in relation to his entry point, knowing there had to be a good-size entrance for the livestock. He also thought there might be more doors similar to the one that had provided him access.

  After only a short distance, Jack noticed the pen gradually had expanded in width until it was about twenty feet wide. And he did find more of the embedded wire-mesh doors every fifty feet or so, but they were all constructed with equivalent precision to the first. A quick check of each convinced him there was no chance any of them could be forcibly opened.

  As he continued walking it became progressively darker, as there were no high windows in this portion of the cavernous surrounding building. Eventually he was moving forward more by feel than by vision, requiring him to have his hands extended out in front of him. After several hundred feet he collided with a wall. Since the light in this section of the cage was minimal, he was forced to use his hands rather than his eyes to inspect the wall. Rather quickly he was able to feel the outline of a pair of double doors that were devoid of any hardware. There weren’t even any hinges, meaning the doors opened outward. He gathered these were the pearly gates for the animals heading for their doomsday.

  In a moment of sudden, spontaneous panic, Jack pounded on the heavy doors. He yelled, “Help!” several times at the top of his lungs, but he only succeeded in causing a ringing in his ears. Quickly recognizing the futility of what he was doing, he gave up. He doubted there was anyone who could hear him, particularly anyone who might be inclined to help.

  Turning around, Jack retraced his steps. At least he was heading back into the light. He again checked each of the embedded doors he passed, in hopes of having missed something, but he hadn’t.

  When Jack got back to the door through which he had entered, he kept going. Thanks to the daylight spilling down from the clerestory windows, he could now see all sorts of details, including that the cage narrowed to no more than five feet in width. He was even able to touch either side simultaneously. About twenty feet on, he came to a heavy grate that blocked further passage. Jack could see that the grate could be mechanically raised to allow individual animals an opportunity to proceed. Just beyond was the area where the animals were killed by being hoisted into the air onto the conveyor system via a hook behind their Achilles tendon and their throats being slit. The mild unpleasant odor Jack had noted when he’d first entered the huge, warehouse-like structure was the most intense where he was now standing.

  Jack tried to raise the grate, but as he had assumed, it wouldn’t budge. It was made of heavy steel bars. Turning around once again, Jack made his way back to the original entrance door. Reacting to a feeling of frustration and mounting terror, he gave it another shake, but wasn’t any more successful than he had been on the first attempt.

  With a feeling of utter dejection, Jack turned his back on the door and slumped down into a sitting position with his legs stretched out in front of him. He leaned back against the wire mesh. He was glad he had his jacket, as it was none too warm, and to take full advantage, he zipped it up and turned up the collar.

  As he sat there, Jack found himself recalling having been in another somewhat similarly worrisome situation in which he’d been handcuffed to a drainpipe of a kitchen sink in a weekend mountain house in the Catskills by a wacky sister and brother. He’d been afraid for his life then, too, and had been ultimately rescued by his basketball buddy Warren. But the difference back then was that Warren had been involved to a degree, so his serving as the savior wasn’t completely unexpected. In this situation, Warren only knew that Jack had gone out to Dover Valley Hospital to investigate some potentially shady doings. Would that be enough to bring Warren out to New Jersey to ask questions about Jack’s whereabouts? Jack doubted it very much, unless Warren put together the shooting last night on 106th Street involving Asian men and Jack’s having had lunch with a Chinese billionaire.

  Being a realist at heart, Jack had to admit the chances Warren might come looking for him were essentially nil. That left Laurie. Would she think about having the Dover Valley Hospital checked when he didn’t show up at home that evening? Jack shook his head. He could remember telling her that the powers-that-be at the Dover Valley Hospital had liked him enough to offer him a job. Now he could have kicked himself for not telling her more about his suspicions concerning the hospital.

  Time passed agonizingly slowly. Jack heard absolutely nothing, making him feel as if he were being held on the back side of the moon. He wondered if the place was sound-insulated, as the slaughtering conveyor system would probably be extraordinarily noisy when in operation. Sound insulation to keep noise inside would also keep outside noise outside.

  After several hours, Jack felt a progressive urge to urinate. Eventually he heaved himself to his feet and walked back fifty feet or so and peed through the wire mesh. When he was done he returned to the entry door. To get his circulation going, he ran in place for a few minutes and did some basic calisthenics. Even that slight amount of exercise made him feel a bit better. Eventually he sat back down in the same position he’d been in earlier.

  By 4:30 the progressively meager light began to fade rapidly. By 5:00 it faded fast. By 5:30 it was dark and getting darker. Soon he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Deprived of visual input, his mind went back to finding fault with himself over the secrecy he’d maintained the last few days, choosing to share little with anyone, particularly with Laurie, because he was afraid she would have tried to curtail his activities. He was particularly sorry he’d elected not to tell her about the shooting episode, which he found himself mulling over anew.

  After giving the episode a lot more thought, he had to admit to himself that the chances that he was intimately involved and not an innocent bystander outweighed any other explanation. But such an admission didn’t get him anyplace. In fact, it seemed to raise more questions than provide answers. But it did remind him of one curious comment Wei had made toward the end of their conversation, when Wei contrasted himself with others in his organization who thought of Jack as an existential risk. Jack had not known what to make of the comment at the time, nor did he now, but it did suggest a difference of opinion resulting in two factions.

  At some point, because of the lack of sensory input and despite his anxiety and fear, Jack actually fell asleep while sitting propped up against the wire-mesh door. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when he was awakened by what he thought had been a noise in the oppressive silence. Straightening up, he strained to hear more, unsure if the noise had been a hallucination or real. But then there was the unmistakable sound of a distant door opening, suggesting the initial noise might have been a key being inserted into a lock.

  Jack leaped to his feet. Hearing someone coming was both welcome and terrifying at the same time, evoking a schizophrenic response. He didn’t know whether to hold his ground or flee into the dark depths of the cage. Then suddenly light entered the dark room in the form of dancing flashlight beams rather than the overhe
ad lights being switched on. To Jack’s wary mental state, flashlights seemed to auger something underhanded that needed to be feared. What he had been secretly fantasizing would happen was the general lights of the slaughterhouse suddenly coming on, and surprised workers discovering him. Someone coming in surreptitiously with flashlights was the opposite extreme, and it terrified him.

  Desperately, Jack wanted to hide, but there was no place to go. Still, he spun around, and by running his hand along the wire mesh, he fled as fast as he could into the black depths of the cage, heading toward the sealed double doors at the very back.

  Suddenly a voice with no accent broke the oppressive silence: “Dr. Stapleton! Where are you? We don’t have much time.”

  Jack stopped and turned back. He could see it was two people rather than the five who had brought him. Both individuals had flashlights, which they were using to shine into the wire cage. The beams were sweeping rapidly around the interior, searching for him.

  Taken aback by hearing his name, since neither group of security people that afternoon had used it, Jack was encouraged. He was even more encouraged about the lack of accent, combined with the comment of not having much time. He couldn’t imagine someone saying that if they meant him harm, but he could if it were the opposite and they were under pressure. Hoping the rules of the game, whatever the game was, had changed, he called out, “I’m back here,” and he began to quickly retrace his steps. As he got closer the two flashlights were directed at him, and he had to shield his eyes with his hands from the glare.

  “Please, hurry!” the same accent-free voice urged. “As I said, we don’t have much time. We need to get you out of here, and we need to do it immediately.”

  “That’s music to my ears,” Jack said. As he reached the embedded door, he was able to make out the man who was speaking to be significantly taller than the other, even a bit taller than Jack. The second, silent man was remarkably slender and a good deal shorter. The bigger man handed his flashlight to the other, which afforded Jack an even better chance to see him without the glare. Jack now could tell that he was a youthful-appearing Asian who spoke American English. He was dressed casually but smartly in an open-neck shirt, sport jacket, and jeans. Jack immediately saw that he was carrying a crowbar, which gave Jack pause with the concern it might be used as a weapon. But the man immediately put Jack’s mind at ease by saying, “I want to pass you this crowbar under the door. It’s best that it appears as if you found the crowbar and thereby managed to break out of here of your own accord. Understand?”