by Robin Cook
“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 se
cond,” 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 oth
er 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.
