No one said a word, and he continued, "So, consider that the Gordons could have discovered a wonderful new vaccine for a terrible disease-causing virus — animal, human, or both — and kept this discovery secret, and over the months assembled all their notes, genetic gels, and the vaccine itself in some hidden area of the laboratory, or in a deserted building on the island. Their purpose, of course, would be to sell this to perhaps a foreign pharmaceutical firm. Perhaps they intended to resign from here, take a job with a private firm, and pretend to make the discovery there. Then, they would get a very handsome bonus amounting to millions of dollars. And the royalties could be tens of millions of dollars, depending on the vaccine."
No one spoke. I glanced at Beth. She had actually predicted this when we were standing on the bluff.
Dr. Zollner continued, "This makes sense. No? People who work with life and death would rather sell life. If for no other reason than it's safer, and it's more profitable. Death is cheap. I could kill you with a whiff of anthrax. Life is more difficult to protect and preserve. So, if the death of the Gordons was in any way connected to their work here, then it was connected as I said. Why would you think of disease-causing virus and bacteria? Why do your minds work that way? As we say, if your only tool is a hammer, then every problem looks like a nail. Yes? Well, but I don't blame you. We always think the worst. And this is your job."
Again, no one spoke.
Dr. Zollner looked at each of us and continued. "If the Gordons did this, it was unethical and also illegal. And whoever was their agent — their middleman — was also unethical and greedy, and it would appear he was also murderous."
It appeared that the good Dr. Zollner had thought this through.
He went on. "This would not be the first time that government scientists or corporate scientists have conspired to steal their own discovery and become millionaires. It is very frustrating for geniuses to see others make millions from their work. And the stakes are very high. If this vaccine, for instance, could be used in a widespread disease, such as AIDS, then we are talking about hundreds of millions of dollars. Even billions for the discoverers."
We all glanced at one another. Billions. So, there you are. The Gordons wanted to be rich, but more I think, they wanted to be famous. They wanted to be recognized, they wanted the vaccine named after them, like the Salk vaccine. That would not have happened here. What we do here is kept very quiet except within the scientific community. The Gordons were somewhat flamboyant for scientists. They were young, they wanted material things. They wanted the American Dream, and they were sure they had earned it. And, you know, they really had. They were brilliant, overworked, and underpaid. So they sought to remedy that. I only wonder what it was they discovered, and I worry that we will not recover it. I wonder, too, who killed them, though I'm sure I know why. So, what do you think? Yes? No?"
Ted Nash spoke first and said, "I think that's it, Doctor. I think you're right."
George Foster nodded. "We had the right idea, but the wrong bug. Vaccine. Of course."
Max, too, nodded and said, "Makes perfect sense. I'm relieved. Yeah."
Beth spoke. "I still have to find the murderer. But I think we can stop looking for terrorists and start looking for another type of person or persons."
I looked at Dr. Zollner awhile, and he looked back at me. His glasses were thick, but you could see the blue twinkling eyes. Maybe not Burl Ives. Maybe Colonel Sanders. That was it. How appropriate. The head of the world's largest animal disease research lab looks like Colonel Sanders.
He said to me, "Detective Corey? You have a contrary thought, perhaps?"
"Oh, no. I'm with the majority on this one. I knew the Gordons, and apparently you did too, Doctor. You're right on the mark." I looked at my colleagues and said, "I can't believe we never thought of that. Not death. Life. Not disease, but a cure."
"Vaccine," said Dr. Zollner. "A preventive. Not a cure. There's better money in vaccines. If it's a flu vaccine, for instance, then a hundred million doses are dispensed each year in America alone. The Gordons were doing brilliant work with viral vaccines."
"Right. Vaccine." I asked Dr. Zollner, "And you say they'd have had to plan this for some time?"
"Oh, yes. As soon as they realized they were on to something, they'd begin making false notes, false test results, and at the same time, keeping legitimate notes and so forth. It's the scientific equivalent of double bookkeeping."
"And no one would realize what was going on? There are no checks or controls?"
"Well, there are, of course. But the Gordons were each other's research partner, and they were very senior. Also, their area of expertise — viral genetic engineering — is somewhat exotic and not easily checked by others. And finally, if there's a will, and there's a genius IQ at work, then there's a way."
I nodded. "Incredible. And how did they smuggle this stuff out? I mean, how big is a Jell-O plate?"
"Gel plate."
"Right. How big?"
"Oh… perhaps a foot and a half wide, and two and a half feet long."
"How do you get that out of biocontamment?"
"I'm not sure."
"And their notes?"
"Fax. I'll show you later."
"And the actual vaccine?"
"That would be easier. Anal and vaginal."
"I don't want to sound crude, Doc, but I don't think they could get a thirty-inch gel plate up their ass without attracting a little attention."
Dr. Zollner cleared his throat and replied, "You don't actually need the gel plates if you could photocopy them or take a photo with one of those little spy cameras."
"Incredible." I thought of the fax machine in the Gordons' office.
"Yes. Well, let's go see if we can figure out what happened and how it happened." He stood. "If anyone does not want to go into biocontainment, you may sit in the lobby or in the cafeteria." He looked around, but no one said anything. He smiled, more Burl Ives than Colonel Sanders, I think. He said, "Well, everyone is brave then. Please, follow me."
We all stood and I said, "Stay together."
Dr. Zollner smiled at me and said, "When you are in biocontainment, my friend, you will naturally want to stay as close to me as possible."
It struck me that I should have gone to the Caribbean to convalesce.
CHAPTER 12
We returned to the lobby and stood before the two yellow doors. Dr. Zollner said to Beth, "Donna awaits you in the locker room. Please follow her instructions, and we will meet you at the rear door of the ladies' locker room." Zollner watched her go through the yellow door, then said to us, "Gentlemen, please follow me."
We followed the good doctor into the men's locker room, which turned out to be a hideous orange place, but otherwise typical of any locker room. An attendant handed us open locks without keys and freshly laundered lab whites. In a plastic bag were paper underwear, socks, and cotton slippers.
Zollner showed us to a row of empty lockers and said, "Please remove everything, including underwear and jewelry."
So, we all stripped down to our birthday suits, and I couldn't wait to tell Beth that Ted Nash carried a.38 with a three-inch barrel and that the barrel was longer than his dick.
George Foster said, apropos of my chest wound, "Close to the heart."
"I have no heart."
Zollner pulled on his oversized whites and now he looked more like Colonel Sanders.
I snapped my padlock on the locker hasp and adjusted my paper underwear.
Dr. Zollner looked us over and said, "So — we are all ready? Then please follow me."
"Hold on," Max said. "Don't we get face masks or respirators or something?"
"Not for Zone Two, Mr. Maxwell. Maybe for Zone Four, if you want to go that far. Come. Follow me."