Dark Biology

by Bonnie Doran

  He found the inner workings of the hotel by entering the double doors marked “Employees Only.” No one challenged him. The narrow passageways led to laundry, housekeeping, and back doors to meeting rooms.

  He snagged a busboy uniform from the laundry hamper. Wrinkled but relatively clean. Stuffing it under his jacket, he left. He meant to return to his room but made a wrong turn and ended up in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing here?” a voice demanded. Chet turned to see a man in a white jacket and chef’s toque glaring at him. Chet assumed he was the sous chef since it was late in the day.

  “Oh, hi. I’m new here. I start tomorrow as a busboy and wanted to check out the place. Been working here long?”

  “Too long.” The chef narrowed his eyes. “Awfully old for a busboy.”

  “Reversal of fortune.”

  “Be on time tomorrow. You’ll help set up lunch in the Mt. Evans room for a big conference.”

  “Oh, that marriage thing? I saw it on the schedule.”

  The chef only nodded.

  “OK. Thanks.”

  Chet left, faking nonchalance. He had just poised his finger over the elevator button when the doors opened and his parents strolled out. He ducked into the stairway, but they never glanced his way. Relief and smugness fought for supremacy in his brain. He climbed the nine flights rather than risk being seen by anyone else he knew. George and Betty always hung around his parents like remoras on sharks. He had a stitch in his side when he card-keyed into his suite.

  The mission had taken him past dinnertime. The room service menu offered the typical semi-exotic choices. No Chinese? Chicken Alfredo would have to do. He considered a split of wine but dismissed it. He needed a clear head for tomorrow.

  He smiled as he anticipated the newspapers’ report of an early flu season. They’d soon discover a new outbreak unresponsive to the annual vaccine. How long would it take the CDC to trace it to the hotel? A few days maybe, if the virus spread as fast as he suspected. He’d be at sea by then, but he could check the news through the cruise ship’s Internet service.

  He changed his mind on the drink and perused the mini-bar refrigerator for champagne. Not his favorite, but he’d cope.

  Good thing he wasn’t a criminal, just a guy pulling a big practical joke at a marriage conference led by the two people who should be the last ones to give advice. He had to admit sneaking around like an international spy thrilled him. James Bond and all that.

  He accepted his meal from room service and tipped the server generously. He’d worked in a hotel in his college days, much to his disgust, and knew the job had little to recommend it salary-wise. He earned a smile and hopefully a bit of extra service. And privacy.

  Arranging his napkin, he savored the Alfredo, which was actually very good, and then turned in. Tomorrow would come way too early.

  ****

  Chet ate a light breakfast in his room. He ironed his busboy uniform, put it on, and studied his reflection in a mirror. A close-enough fit. He then dug into his bag for the vial, disposable gloves, a paper face mask, and a cheap plastic spray bottle. He added water to the bottle, dumped the vial’s contents into it, and screwed on the cap. No need for a biohazard suit with such a mild virus, but a little extra protection couldn’t hurt. He exited his room with the bottle hidden in a deep pants pocket.

  After running down seventeen hundred flights of stairs, he emerged near the elevators out of breath. Got to get more exercise.

  He pretended to be extremely interested in the indoor pool as an entourage of people passed him. Were his parents among them? The uniform rendered him invisible, but he waited until their reflections in the window disappeared, then found the door to the labyrinth of corridors in the service area. Showing up on time was critical to blending in. The chef he talked to earlier looked up from his sauces and scowled at him. “You are here for the luncheon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The chef pointed to a closet. “The silverware is there.”

  “I was told to fold napkins.”

  Mr. Toque shrugged. “The napkins are there. I assume you can fold a Bird of Paradise?”

  “Of course.” Chet put his hands in his pockets so his clenched fists wouldn’t show.

  “Why the face mask?”

  “Cold.”

  “All right, then. We need four hundred napkins on those tables before noon. Put one in the center of each plate with the head facing out. Understand?”

  Chet seethed. Of all the arrogant busybodies. He never got along with chefs.

  The man turned and headed back to the kitchen.

  Chet relaxed. So far, so good. Now to get to work.

  Grabbing stacks of cloth napkins from the closet, Chet piled them on a cart and wheeled it into the banquet room. Other staff members were busy spreading tablecloths and arranging condiments, but they ignored him. He found a corner in the room, pulled out the bottle, and quickly sprayed the napkins.

  “Why are you doing that? Spraying the napkins, I mean?” The young Asian busboy spoke perfect English.

  Chet searched the files of his brain to come up with a plausible answer. “Adding a little water makes them easier to fold. Watch.” He folded one into a Bird of Paradise, grateful for his hobby of origami. “See?”

  “Huh. I never heard of that trick, but it seems to work.” The boy flashed a quick smile and returned to his duties.

  After he finished spraying the napkins and folding them, Chet placed a virus-laden bird on each plate and grinned. How appropriate. He’d worked on a new strain of bird flu last week.

  His hands cramped, and his back ached before he was done. Other servers had napkin duty as well, but his creations looked much better. No surprise there. He crackled the kinks out of his back and left the room. After trudging up the nine floors to his suite, Chet peeked out the stairway door to check if the coast was clear then card-keyed inside. He shed his clothes and showered. After changing into a business suit, he repacked and tucked the vial into a pocket of his overnight bag.

  Wadding the uniform into a ball, Chet buried it in the bottom of a dirty linens bag on the first housekeeping cart he saw. He tossed the spray bottle and gloves in the cart’s trash. The maid’s vacuum droned from a nearby room. Carrying his overnight bag and laptop, he risked the elevator and, once on the lobby level, blended into a group of businessman taking a break from a seminar. One of the men motioned for him to join in a discussion. He smiled and nodded, understanding nothing of the conversation about software. He glanced at his watch, excused himself, and strode to the hotel lobby. Still ahead of the noon check-out time and the basketball slugs. He sailed through the revolving doors, hurried to his rental car, and drove off.

  Operation completed.

  12

  “I”

  “That was delicious.” Carol wiped her lips with her napkin, folded it carefully, and placed it next to her demolished dessert. Give her chocolate, and her diet went out the window. The scalloped potatoes were too salty, but far better than her usual burned, greasy effort.

  “Yeah, not a bad lunch for hotel food with four hundred mouths to feed.” Mike finished his chocolate cake with a flourish, scrubbed his mouth with the napkin, and threw it in a heap on the table.

  Carol scowled but resisted the urge to scold. She wasn’t going to start an argument here, and she was trying to respond to her husband in a positive way. Rev. Hildebrandt’s words stung—or was it God’s conviction? He’d encouraged the attendees to really listen to their spouses. It had been harder than she expected during the assigned exercises. Mike was better at it, a fact that surprised her.

  “Worth always picks out the most marvelous menu.” Betty savored two bites of her cake and put down her fork. Carol admired the woman’s self-control.

  The older couple had apparently adopted her and Mike. Carol welcomed their friendship and example of marital give-and-take. Even Mike seemed impressed. At least he wasn’t hiding behind a façade of indifference.

 
George leaned over to him. “I have it on good authority that Laura’s the one who does the details like menu planning. You and I both know the gentler sex is better at that kind of thing than us macho types. We’re too busy fighting the mastodons.”

  Mike cracked up. Carol couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard even a chuckle from him. How she had missed it.

  The thought disturbed her. How long had he walked around with a scowl on his face? Three months? Six months? Ever since her carpal tunnel surgery? Probably. What a witch she’d been. No matter what Mike did, he couldn’t cook well enough, though he’d attended cooking school, or clean well enough in spite of his obsessive-compulsive tendency when it came to vacuuming. She’d treated that cast as if it were a royal scepter that gave her the right to hand out decrees. Her attitude hadn’t changed. No wonder he frowned.

  Her frustration had risen every time she’d had to do something one-handed. Working on her computer became such an ordeal that she nearly threw it out the window. Instead, she screamed and cried. Mike had tried to rescue her more than once, but she’d turned her back on his every attempt.

  As Carol watched Mike conversing with George and Betty, the cake in her stomach turned to rock. When was the last time they’d talked like that? He seemed so disconnected from her, but here he was, talking with these strangers as if they were his long-lost parents. Maybe that was why Carol liked them. Betty reminded her of her own mother. If only she’d been able to talk to Mom, she might have avoided some heartache. Mom always offered sage advice. That guiding voice had died with her.

  Carol shook free of the lingering grief. She excused herself from the table and weaved through the overcrowded room, intent on beating the crowd to the restroom before the next session.

  After washing up, Carol gave herself a cursory glance in the mirror, grimaced, and dug into her purse for a brush. She definitely needed a new cut and color. When she returned to her seat in the meeting room, Mike was still missing. Disappointment sagged her heart. She’d hoped for a few minutes to chat.

  The rich dessert somersaulted in her tense tummy. Hildebrandt’s words had convicted her. She wasn’t sure what to do with the guilt.

  ****

  Ceiling lights brightened in the hotel conference room as the seminar concluded. The audience gave the Hildebrandts a standing ovation. Carol and Mike applauded with the rest of the attendees, and Mike seemed downright enthusiastic. Halfway through the morning, he’d set down the book. He’d worked on the exercises and listened to the messages. Could this all-too-short seminar make a change in their relationship? Could she change? Mike said he was willing to work on their marriage. Was she?

  “Did you enjoy the conference?” Betty’s question bounced her out of her speculations.

  Carol decided on a vague answer. She thought she’d bawl if she admitted how much the seminar had affected her. “Oh, yes. I think it was very helpful.”

  “Well, he sure gave me a lot to think about.” Mike rarely displayed his emotions in public, but Carol saw him wipe a tear from his eye. She smiled. Fighting the mastodons, indeed.

  As George and Betty left to greet the Hildebrandts, Carol faced her husband and squeezed his hand. “Honey, thanks for attending this with me. I know you wanted to trim the hedges this weekend. I appreciate your sacrifice.” Carol couldn’t think of the last time she’d said thank you. She could start with that.

  Mike dismissed her worry with a shrug. “I can always do it next week.” Then he gave her that lopsided grin that always spun her on her toes. He paused for dramatic effect. “Or maybe I can talk you into going skiing with me instead.”

  “This late in the year?”

  “A few runs are still open. I like spring skiing.”

  “You know I don’t ski anymore.” Carol regretted her argumentative tone. “I wish I could, but I’m just afraid my carpal tunnel will kick in again.”

  “I don’t think it’ll hurt your wrist after all this time. You can check with the doctor if you’re that concerned.”

  Carol considered her options. She could get an appointment next week. She was probably just babying herself. A slight smile curled her mouth before she frowned again. “It’s been so long since we’ve skied. I’m sure I’ve forgotten how.”

  “Nonsense.” Mike launched into his most persuasive tone. Carol didn’t mind. “You could take a refresher lesson if you’re uncomfortable, but it’s like riding a bicycle.”

  “Maybe.” Carol hated her lack of excitement at the prospect. She’d been down in the dumps too long.

  “Or you could go shopping while I conquer the slopes, then we could find a nice restaurant.”

  “Hmmm.” Maybe a romantic dinner.

  “Tell you what. I’ll spring for a weekend in Aspen, complete with shopping, if you’ll ski one run with me. One more condition. Help me clean up the yard on Friday. It’s beginning to look like a jungle. I’ll finagle an extra day off somehow. We can get an early start on the yard and then head up to the slopes late afternoon.”

  It didn’t take long for Carol to consider the offer, although Mike was such a perfectionist that helping him prune the roses made her nervous. But Aspen…

  “Deal.” She doubted the glow would last, but she felt valued. A glimmer of hope shone its rays on the future.

  Thanks, Lord.

  13

  “I”

  Worth navigated his way down the stairs at the side of the stage. The auditorium hummed with conversation as people stood and stretched at the end of a long day. George waited for him at the bottom step, and Worth slapped him on the back. “Thanks for being here, old friend.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.” George grinned. “Betty and I always enjoy your seminars.”

  “And I always appreciate your prayers.”

  “Our pleasure. Come. Thy chariot awaits.”

  They shuffled toward the back exit, George acting as bodyguard. “I’m so sorry,” he said to a woman as she elbowed her way through the crowd, asking for just a word or two with Worth. “I’m afraid I need to haul this man off to the airport. His daughter is an astronaut, you know, and she launches on Tuesday.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Have a nice flight.” Her raspy voice faded behind Worth as George hustled him through the crowd. On the other side of the room, Betty hurried Laura through a knot of admirers.

  Finally, they escaped. Worth panted as if he’d just boxed three rounds with a heavyweight champion. Seminars always drained him.

  The four of them raced out the door to George and Betty’s car. They climbed into the black Lincoln Continental, and George pulled out of the parking lot before they had time to buckle their seatbelts.

  “We really appreciate the lift, but we could have driven ourselves,” Laura protested from the back seat. “Three days of overnight parking wouldn’t break our piggy bank.”

  “No more of this, dear,” Betty said. “We’re happy to do it, and we know how exhausted you and Worth must be. And excited. I just can’t imagine having my own daughter launching into space.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to drive straight if I were in your shoes.” George’s eyebrow quirked.

  Laura chuckled. “Incredible, isn’t it? And to think we were worried when she went to college.”

  A glorious sunset disappeared behind the Rocky Mountains, igniting the clouds streaming east. Worth loosened his red tie but couldn’t unknot the lump in his throat. “We’re very proud of her.”

  George pulled into the drop-off area and helped them with their carry-ons. Worth glanced at his watch. They were early by a couple of hours. “Thanks again.”

  “Have a wonderful time, dear. We’ll be praying.” Betty’s face expressed regret. “Wish we were going with you.”

  They exchanged hugs, and then Worth lifted Laura’s flowered carry-on and his battered one out of the trunk. He and Laura whooshed through the double doors, rolling their suitcases behind them. He gripped his wife’s hand briefly before they mounted the escalator to ticke
ting.

  Their own daughter, an astronaut. Pride, worry, and prayers churned together in his stomach. Reconciliation’s flight to the International Space Station would be just another routine mission. He hoped. Doubt nipped him as he remembered the Challenger and Columbia disasters. Worth reached over to grasp Laura’s hand. She looked up to him and frowned. No need to say anything. She was as worried as he was.

  ****

  Worth woke at five o’clock. The time change always fouled up his biorhythm. Resigned, he slid out of bed and padded to the kitchenette, grateful the bedroom had a door so he wouldn’t disturb his wife. He prepared a pot of coffee and inhaled the aroma as the brewer spat its way to completion. He sipped a cup while he squeezed in a little prayer and Bible reading. He studied the map to the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex, the beach house, and NASA’s Banana River viewing site. Seemed pretty straightforward.

  At seven, he woke Laura with a kiss. She yawned and came instantly alert. Always the morning person. Worth envied her ability.

  “Morning.” She sat up then placed her hands on her hips. “And where’s my coffee?”

  “Coming right up.” Worth returned to the kitchenette, poured a cup, added creamer, and carried it to his waiting princess. The serving-her-coffee ritual had become a part of their daily routine since…well, since he turned his life around and returned to his true love.

  They dressed for a cool morning outdoors, ate the motel’s hot breakfast, and drove to the visitor’s center. The tour group assembled for a briefing. Worth scanned the crowd but didn’t see Frank’s or Dan’s parents. He and Laura boarded a bus and joined the other visitors for the tour.

  Hours later, the bus belched its occupants onto the parking lot of the center. Worth thanked the driver and guide before leading his wife by the arm. “We should get going.”