We were about a quarter mile from Plum Island when a strange but familiar noise caught our attention. Then we saw it-a big white helicopter with red Coast Guard markings passed us off our starboard side. The guy was going low and slow, and leaning out the door of the helicopter was a man, secured by straps or something. The man was wearing a uniform, a radio helmet, and was carrying a rifle.
Mr. Stevens commented, "That's the deer patrol." He explained, "As a purely precautionary measure, we look for deer that might swim to or from Plum Island."
No one spoke.
Mr. Stevens thought he should expand on that, and said, "Deer are incredibly strong swimmers, and they've been known to swim to Plum from Orient and even Gardiners Island, and Shelter Island, which is seven miles away. We discourage deer from taking up residence or even visiting Plum Island."
"Unless," I pointed out, "they sign the form."
Mr. Stevens smiled again. He liked me. He liked the Gordons, too, and look what happened to them.
Beth asked Mr. Stevens, "Why do you discourage deer from swimming to the island?"
"Well… we have what's called a 'Never Leave' policy. That is, whatever comes on the island may never leave unless it's decontaminated. That includes us when we leave later. Big items that can't be decontaminated, such as cars, trucks, lab equipment, construction debris, garbage, and so forth never leave the island."
Again, no one spoke.
Mr. Stevens, realizing he'd frightened the tourists, said, "I don't mean to suggest the island is contaminated."
"Fooled me," I admitted.
"Well, I should explain-there are five levels of biohazard on the island, or I should say, five zones. Level One or Zone One is the ambient air, all the places outside the biocontainment laboratories, which is safe. Zone Two is the shower area between the locker rooms and the laboratories and also some low-contagion workplaces. You'll see this later. Then Level Three is the biocontainment labs where they work with infectious diseases. Level Four is deeper into the building and includes the pens where diseased animals are held, and also where the incinerators and dissection rooms are." He looked at each of us to see if he had our attention, which he most certainly did, and continued, "Recently, we have added a Level Five capability, which is the highest biocontainment level. There are not many Level Five facilities in the world. We added this one because some of the organisms we were receiving from places such as Africa and the Amazon jungle were more virulent than suspected." He looked at each of us and said, sort of sotto voce, "In other words, we were getting blood and tissue samples infected with Ebola."
I said, "I think we can go back now."
Everyone smiled and tried to laugh. Ha, ha. Not funny.
Mr. Stevens continued, "The new laboratory is a state-of-the-art containment facility, but there was a time when we had the old post-World War Two facility, and that wasn't, unfortunately, as safe. So, at that time, we adopted the 'Never Leave' policy as a precaution against spreading infection to the mainland. The policy is still officially in effect, but it's somewhat relaxed. Still, we don't like things and people traveling too freely between the island and the mainland without being decontaminated. That, of course, includes deer."
Beth asked again, "But why?"
"Why? Because they might pick up something on the island."
"Like what?" I asked. "A bad attitude?"
Mr. Stevens smiled and replied, "Maybe a bad cold."
Beth asked, "Do you kill the deer?"
"Yes."
No one spoke for a long moment, then I asked, "How about birds?"
Mr. Stevens nodded and replied, "Birds could be a problem."
I asked my follow-up question, "And mosquitoes?"
"Oh, yes, mosquitoes could be a problem. But you must remember that all lab animals are kept indoors, and all experiments are done in negative air pressure biocontainment labs. Nothing can escape."
Max asked, "How do you know?"
Mr. Stevens replied, "Because you're still alive."
On that optimistic note, while Sylvester Maxwell contemplated being compared to a canary in a coal mine, Mr. Stevens said, "When we disembark, please stay with me at all times."
Hey, Paul, I wouldn't have it any other way.
CHAPTER 8
As we approached the island, The Plum Runner slowed. I stood, went to the port side, and leaned against the rail. To my left, the old stone Plum Island Lighthouse came into view, and I recognized it because it was a favorite subject of bad watercolor artists around here. To the right of the lighthouse, down by the shore, was a big billboard-sized sign that said, "CAUTION! CABLE CROSSING! NO TRAWLING! NO DREDGING!"
So, if terrorists were interested in knocking out power and communications to Plum Island, the authorities gave them a little hint. On the other hand, to be fair, I assumed Plum had its own emergency generators plus cell phones and radios.
Anyway, The Plum Runner slipped through this narrow channel and into a small cove which looked artificial, as though it had been called into being, not by God Almighty, but by the Army Corps of Engineers, who liked to put the finishing touches on Creation.
There weren't many buildings around the cove, just a few tin warehouse-type structures, probably left over from the military days.
Beth came up beside me and said softly, "Before you got to the ferry, I saw-"
"I was there. I saw it. Thanks."
The ferry did a one-eighty and backed into the slip.
My colleagues were standing at the rail now, and Mr. Stevens said, "We'll wait until the employees disembark."
I asked him, "Is this an artificial harbor?" He replied, "Yes, it is. The Army constructed it when they built the artillery batteries here before the Spanish-American War."
I suggested, "You may want to lose that cable crossing sign."
He replied, "We have no choice. We have to let boats know. Anyway, it's on the navigation charts."
"But it could say, 'Freshwater pipe.' You don't have to give the whole thing away."
"True." He glanced at me and was about to say something, but didn't. Maybe he wanted to offer me a job.
The last of the employees disembarked, and we went down the stairs and exited the ferry through the opening in the stern rail. And here we were on the mysterious Island of Plum. It was windy, sunny, and cool on the dock. Ducks waddled around the shoreline, and I was glad to see they didn't have fangs or flashing red eyes or anything.
As I said, the island is shaped like a pork chop-maybe a baby lamb chop-and the cove is at the fat end of the chop, as if someone took a little bite out of the meat, to continue the idiotic comparison.
There was only one boat tied up at the dock, a thirty-something-footer with a cabin, a searchlight, and an inboard motor. The name of this craft was The Prune. Someone had fun naming the ferry and this boat, and I didn't think it was Paul Stevens, whose idea of nautical humor was probably watching hospital ships being torpedoed by U-boats.
I noticed a wooden, weather-faded sign that said, " Plum Island Animal Disease Center." Beyond the sign was a flagpole, and I saw that the American flag was at half-staff here also.
The employees who'd just disembarked boarded a white bus that pulled away, and the ferry blasted its horn, but I didn't see anyone boarding for the trip back to Orient.
Mr. Stevens said, "Please stay here." He strode off, then stopped to speak to a man dressed in an orange jumpsuit.
There was a weird feel to this place-people in orange jumpsuits, blue uniforms, white buses, and all this "stay here" and "stay together" crap. I mean, here I was on a restricted island with this blond SS look-alike, an armed helicopter circling around, armed guards all over the place, and I'm feeling like I somehow stepped into a James Bond movie, except that this place is real. I said to Max, "When do we meet Dr. No?"