"Why do you think that is?"
"Genetic factors?"
"Quite possibly. As with most diseases, we really don't have any idea why one person exposed to a germ gets sick and the person standing right next to them during the exposure doesn't. A little harder, Doc. Perfect. You tell me bad luck, and I'll tell you that right now for most infectious diseases, that's as good an explanation as any. I believe that those who develop spongiform disease are either lacking some sort of protective gene or else have a gene that in essence invites the altered prions in."
Nikki rolled over, drew Matt's face down to hers, and kissed him lightly on the mouth.
"Tell her what she just won, Merv," he said as she finished. "Congratulations, you just won another two hundred hours of massage."
Matt cupped his hands over his mouth and imitated the roar of a crowd.
"I'll tell you what, big guy," she said. "We'll stop in some city in New Jersey and I'll just file a report with the FBI office there. Then I'll go with you wherever it is you want to go. Deal?"
"I'm agin it."
"I know you are."
"Okay, deal… There's something else you want to add. I can see it in your eyes. What is it? What?"
"Matt, I hate to say this, and I don't want you to get upset or discouraged, but the mine theory isn't holding together well for me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the connection between the toxic exposure and the syndrome we've encountered."
"The waste dump is there. I saw it."
"Given. Let's assume the two miners had the same spongiform disease that Joe found in Kathy. Spongiform encephalopathy, at least the four or five different types we know of, is caused by prisons, but I just don't know how a toxic exposure can cause a prion infection."
"Well," he said after some thought, "let me take a crack at that. There are good, life-sustaining prions that everybody has and loves, right?"
"Yes."
"And there are bad, spawn-of-the-devil, PrPSc prions that cause spongiform disease, right?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Then, how about the toxic exposure increases susceptibility to bad prions… or… or causes mutations from good to evil? Organic toxins cause mutations that go on to cause cancer."
"That's a fact. But remember, these conditions seem to take years to develop — in some instances, decades. So if a toxic exposure did occur affecting our three cases, I would think it occurred before any of the subjects was old enough to be working in the mine. And what about Kathy? She never even came close to the mine as far as we know."
"What about groundwater contamination?"
"The toxins from the mine get into the water and accelerate prion mutations. Is that what you wish to believe?"
"That is what I would like to believe, yes," Matt said.
She kissed him once again, then pulled her pillow in tightly as she drew her knees and arms in.
"Works for me," she said dreamily.
But Matt could tell that it didn't. He waited until her breathing said that she was asleep.
"G'night," he whispered.
He rolled over and drifted off, his mind playing images of an underground river churning past countless barrels of poison, then coursing off into the darkness.
Newark, New Jersey. With four stops for directions, which were invariably given to them in dense Newarkese, it took longer to locate the FBI office than it had to make it to Newark from Stamford. They chose Newark because they expected it would have a good-sized office, and because neither of them wanted to drive into Manhattan. Matt rolled slowly down a tree-lined street, past the tall, nondescript Gateway Center on Market Street, and stopped half a block away.
"So," he said as Nikki stripped off her helmet, buckled it to the bike, and ran a brush through her hair, "here we are."
"Here we are," she echoed, hands on hips. "Matt, you're looking distressed. I thought we had decided on a plan."
"I just don't feel comfortable about this."
"I understand. How about making it a little easier on me." She reached her arms out to him. "Come on," she cooed.
"Sorry," Matt muttered, accepting the invitation to hold her. "I still have trouble coming to grips with why people don't accept my point of view on any given subject as the only viable one, let alone the best one."
"You can come in with me if you want."
"The FBI agents might not look charitably on any guy with a ponytail who isn't Steven Seagal. Tell you what, I'm going to call my uncle from that pay phone we saw on the next block. After that I might come in."
"It shouldn't take too long just to file a report."
"We're talking government agency here. 'Shouldn't take too long' is not a well-understood concept in that world."
"Hold down the fort."
Matt watched as she strode away, took a tentative step to follow, then turned, climbed back on the bike, and rode to the next block. There were two messages on his answering machine. One was from Mae, reminding him of a three o'clock appointment with his dental hygienist, and assuring him that his patients for the day had been moved to other slots.
"I certainly hope you are all right," she added, the concern in her voice unmistakable.
The second message, recorded yesterday evening, was from Hal.
"Everything's set, Matthew. Fred Carabetta will see us at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon at his office in D.C. Call me for details."
Hal answered on the first ring.
"Hey, Matt. Are you okay?"
"No."
Quickly, Matt reviewed the events of the previous night.
"God, that's just awful," Hal said. "And where are you calling from?"
"Newark. Nikki's in with the FBI right now, filing a report."
"Well, I think you've got to get her out of there," Hal said. "I was just going to leave another message on your machine. Grimes has an APB out for your arrest — both of you."
"I was afraid he might do something like that. What's he charging us with?"
"Murder."
"What?"
"Grimes called me early this morning, then came by and drove me out to view a body and bring it back to the morgue. Big man, what's left of him."
"I think I know who he is," Matt said, feeling the acid in his stomach beginning to percolate. "Name's Larry. He worked for Grimes."
"Extra crispy. From what I could tell he was shot in the head in a cabin off Tall Pines Road, then incinerated when it was burned to the ground. Quite well done, the man was. Then, while we're driving back to town, Grimes casually tells me that you and Dr. Solari are wanted for the guy's murder. Wants to know if I might happen to know where you are."
"How does he get off making me a suspect?"
"There are hospital medications and supplies in the woods near the cabin with fingerprints on them, and motorcycle tracks all around. Grimes is speculating that the big man was working for you when he kidnapped Dr. Solari and that you killed him to keep him quiet or from squeezing you for more money."
"Slick. He's setting both Nikki and me up to die, Hal. Maybe a murder-suicide by this deranged doctor who became obsessed with his patient to the point where he had her kidnapped. All Grimes has to do now is get his hands on us. Hal, I've got to get to Nikki before she speaks with the FBI people. I'll call you later."
"We're expected at Carabetta's office at three this afternoon. Constitution Avenue."
"We'll be there," Matt said.
He sped around the block and dismounted the Harley across the street from the office building.
"FBI, please."
"Twenty-second floor," the uniformed security man at the lobby reception desk responded, glancing up from his magazine only long enough to ensure that the questioner wasn't encased in dynamite and brandishing an assault rifle.
The six elevators were all between floors ten and fifteen of the twenty-four stories. Their descent was so painfully slow that Matt actually gave passing thought to sprinting up the twenty-two flights. He was the only one in sight as he stepped into the car, but predictably, three others — a man and two women — materialized just as the doors were about to close, and pressed buttons for floors five, nine, and seventeen. Matt tapped his toe and drummed his fingers over the upward journey, which seemed to take an hour. The elevator opened directly into the waiting room.