“Bullshit.”
“You use a condom every time, Edmund? She miss a bit of work around the time you stopped seeing each other? You might not remember, but I doubt you liked your analysts taking a lot of time off. And perhaps she left the company soon after that, am I right?”
Edmund sighed. He felt deflated, almost literally, as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He stared back out at the water again.
“So what will you do with this information? And I’m not saying it’s true.”
“I said just now what a lovely wife you have, what a beautiful home. It’s true, of course. I’m just pointing out to you what’s at stake here, Edmund. You might not see things as clearly as I do. We’ve all worked so hard to get what we have, and there are so many people who are jealous of us, who say we don’t deserve all this, but we both know the truth. We earned everything we have. Without us, this country would be starved of innovation. Nothing new would be created. Okay, so someone’s going to grow organs outside of the body, but not now, not when they’ll destroy this wonderful product of yours. It’s a fantastic idea that you had. And you have to protect it.”
Jerry paused.
“Now you say what I just told you is bullshit. It’s not all bullshit, is it? It can’t be. And what’s Alice going to say if she gets a note that says her husband slept with his analyst, and she got pregnant? I doubt she’s going to be placated that easily, just by telling her it’s all bullshit.”
Edmund said nothing.
“I’m telling you, these Albanian guys can make all of this go away. I assure you they have done more difficult things than this. It turns out that it’s true what they say: money really can buy you anything. Just look around you, Edmund, you just have too much to lose.”
“What about Gloria Croft?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Jerry said. “She’ll get hers when LifeDeals share price skyrockets.”
Jerry held out the piece of paper again. This time, Edmund wearily put out his hand and took the scrap, unfolded it and read it. Jerry touched him once on the shoulder with his left hand and turned and walked back toward the house. Edmund stood where he was, staring at the name written on the paper, a name that meant nothing to him, and everything.
PART II
25.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER NEW YORK CITY MARCH 23, 2011, 12:02 P.M.
Tobias Rothman was happiest when he could work uninterrupted in the safe confines of the lab, with Dr. Yamamoto at his side. Yamamoto was like Rothman’s right arm. He could hold out a hand, and Yamamoto would know what he wanted without him having to ask for it. The two men communicated by looks and pointed fingers and sometimes, Rothman swore, by intuition. If Rothman could intuit anything as they worked together under the hood in the biosafety level-3 lab today, it was that his colleague didn’t feel so good because a couple of times he’d uncharacteristically missed Rothman’s cues. In truth, Rothman hadn’t been feeling particularly well himself for the last hour or so. He had some mild gastric distress but worse was a kind of light-headedness, as if he were walking on eggshells. It had started about an hour after their coffee break at nine. They’d been in the unit since six.
Rothman looked over at Yamamoto. He was facing the wall, resting his hands on the lab bench, breathing hard. Yamamoto turned to look at Rothman, and Rothman could see that he was shivering. With a hood and mask, all Rothman could see of Yamamoto’s face were his eyes, which reflected fear. Suddenly Rothman felt it too, and began to shiver himself. It was as if he’d just jumped into a bath of ice water, yet he was sweating, and he felt nauseous. It was impossible that what flashed through his mind could be happening-they’d taken all their usual precautions, and their safety record was perfect.
The next moment Yamamoto’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed limply onto the floor. Rothman tried to steady himself before going to Yamamoto’s aid, but he felt suddenly much worse. The room swam before him. He knew he was going to black out and just before he did, his hand reached for the red button on the wall.
Pia was sitting in her office comparing notes with Will and Lesley. It was crowded but quiet. They’d taken refuge in there despite its diminutive size as there was yet another workman in the lab proper, again working up in the ceiling with all the electrical wires. He’d briefly been in her office as well as Rothman’s but thankfully had left both. Luckily it wasn’t the same guy, Vance, who’d been such a pain weeks earlier.
The three students had formed an effective unit in their three weeks together and were making good progress with the temperature and pH issues with the organ baths. They’d spent almost all of their waking hours including weekends in the lab, but none of them begrudged a minute of it.
Then, in an instant, it was as if a riot had broken out at the door to the lab.
“What the hell?” Will said, as the three students piled out of Pia’s office.
From her vantage point, all Pia could see were people barging in through the door. The place was being invaded-she must have seen twenty people dressed in gowns, hats, masks, and booties rush toward the biosafety unit. Bringing up the rear was a pair of gurneys sprouting IV poles with plastic bags of IV fluid slapping against the metal poles, pushed by more gowned-up figures. The gurneys disappeared into the biosafety unit, whose door had been propped open with a doorstop. Pia felt a terrible sensation growing in the pit of her stomach.
One man stopped by Marsha’s desk and stood next to the terrified secretary, who had a hand clasped over her mouth; another blocked off the entrance door, which was again closed, denying access to the corridor and the rest of the medical center. The laboratory staff crowded into the center of the room and there was a ripple of loud conversation and shouted questions.
“Is this a drill?” Lesley said. “What’s going on?”
The figure by Marsha’s desk pulled down his mask. He was a fifty-something African-American man with skin as black as ebony; his voice was calm yet commanding.
“Okay, folks, this is not a drill. We have a situation, and I need you all to stay right here, right where you are. Is everyone in the lab accounted for?”
People looked around, checking for coworkers among the fifteen or so technicians and support staff standing around. Pia could see the maintenance man in his coveralls standing at the back of the room, gaping like everyone else.
“Everybody here? Okay. My name’s David Winston. I’m from hospital security. These other people are a mixed group from the hospital ER and the Department of Infectious Disease. I’ll give you more information when we have it. I am asking you to please remain in this area. Thank you for your cooperation.”
The staff stood in small groups and talked among themselves. Pia, unable to stay still, walked around in a small, tight circle. Whatever was happening, she knew it wasn’t good. A wave of anxiety washed over her.
The lab door opened abruptly and a tall, distinguished-looking man walked in quickly and made his way through the cordon toward the biosafety unit, conspicuously avoiding eye contact with anyone. He was dressed in protective clothing like the others except his mask hung down on his chest. Under the gown was a suit, not scrubs like the others. Pia knew this was the chief of Infectious Disease, Dr. Helmut Springer, as she had attended several lectures he’d given during second-year pathology.
The background buzz of conversation grew louder. Most recognized Dr. Springer. Everyone in the lab was well aware that they worked with highly virulent and contagious microorganisms. Was it possible there’d been some contamination of the lab? Where were Dr. Rothman and Dr. Yamamoto? Springer’s appearance only heightened the tension. The man by the door was on a cell, apparently quarterbacking whatever was happening. “We’re on our way, ETA five minutes,” he was heard to bark into his phone.