'Coming up,' Wheat said, walking off.
The slide took almost no time to dry, and I dripped Nicolaou stain on it and sealed it with a cover slip. I was already looking at it under a microscope when Wheat returned with a container of bleach solution. She dipped the Vita spray in it several times while fears coalesced, rolling into a dark, awful thunderhead as my pulse throbbed in my neck. I peered at the Guarnieri bodies I had come to dread.
When I looked up at Wheat, she could tell by the expression on my face.
'Not good,' she said.
'Not good.' I turned off the microscope and dropped my mask and gloves into biohazardous waste.
The Vita sprays from my office were airlifted to Atlanta, and a preliminary warning was broadcast nationwide to anyone who might have had such a sample delivered to them. The manufacturer had issued an immediate recall, and international airlines were removing the sprays from overseas travel bags given to business and first-class passengers. The potential spread of this disease, should deadoc have somehow tampered with hundreds, thousands of the facial sprays, was staggering. We could, once again, find ourselves facing a worldwide epidemic.
The meeting took place at one P.M. in the FBI's field office off Staples Mill Road. State and federal flags fought from tall poles out front as a sharp wind tore brown leaves off trees and made the afternoon seem much colder than it was. The brick building was new, and had a secure conference room equipped with audio-visual capabilities, so we could see remote people while we talked to them. A young female agent sat at the head of the table, at a console. Wesley and I pulled out chairs and moved microphones close. Above us on walls were video monitors.
'Who else are we expecting?' Wesley asked as the special agent in charge, or S.A.C., walked in with an armload of paperwork.
'Miles,' said the S.A.C., referring to the Health Commissioner, my immediate boss.
'And the Coast Guard.' He glanced at his paperwork. 'Regional chief out of Crisfield, Maryland. A chopper's bringing him in. Shouldn't take him more than thirty minutes in one of those big birds.'
He had no sooner said this than we could hear blades thudding faintly in the distance. Minutes later, the Jayhawk was thundering overhead and settling in the helipad behind the building. I could not remember a Coast Guard recovery helicopter ever landing in our city or even flying over it low, and the sight of it must have been awesome to people on the road. Chief Martinez was slipping off his coat as he joined us. I noted his dark blue commando sweater and uniform pants, and maps rolled up in tubes, and the situation only got grimmer.
The agent at the console was working controls as Commissioner Miles strode in and took a chair next to mine. He was an older man with abundant gray hair that was more contentious than most of the people he managed. Today, tufts were sticking out in all directions, his brow heavy and stern as he put on thick black glasses.
'You look a little under the weather,' he said to me as he made notes to himself.
'The usual stuff going around,' I said.
'Had I known that, I wouldn't have sat next to you.' He meant it.
'I'm beyond the contagious stage.' I said, but he wasn't listening.
Monitors were coming on around the room, and I recognized the face of Colonel
Fujitsubo on one of them. Then Bret Martin blinked on, staring straight at us.
The agent at the console said, 'Camera on. Mikes on. Someone want to count for me.'
'Five-four-three-two-one,' the S.A.C. said into his mike.
'How's that level?'
'Fine here,' Fujitsubo said from Frederick, Maryland.
'Fine,' said Martin from Atlanta.
'We're ready anytime.' The agent at the console glanced around the table.
'Just to make sure all of us are up to speed,' I began. 'We have an outbreak of what appears to be a smallpox-like virus that so far seems to be restricted to the island of Tangier, eighteen miles off the coast of Virginia. Two deaths reported so far, with another person ill. It is also likely that a recent homicide victim was infected with this virus. The mode of transmission is suspected to be the deliberate contamination of samples of Vita aromatherapy facial spray.'
'That hasn't been determined yet.' It was Miles who spoke.
'The samples should be getting here any minute,' Martin said from Atlanta. 'We'll begin testing immediately, and will hopefully have an answer by the end of tomorrow. Meanwhile, they're being taken out of circulation until we know exactly what we're dealing with.'
'You can do PCR to see if it's the same virus,' Miles said to the video screens. Martin nodded. 'That we can do.'
Miles looked around the room. 'So what are we saying here? We got some loonytune out there, some Tylenol killer who's decided to use a disease? How do we know these little spray bottles aren't the hell all over the place?'
'I think the killer wants to take his time.' Wesley began what he did best. 'He started with one victim. When that paid off, he began on a tiny island. Now that's paying off, so he hits a downtown health department office.' He looked at me. 'He will go to the next stage if we don't stop him or develop a vaccine. Another reason I suspect this is still local, is it appears the facial sprays are hand-delivered, with bogus bulk-rate postage on the tubes to give the appearence that they were mailed.'
'You're definitely calling this product tampering, then,' Colonel Fujitsubo said to him.
'I'm calling this terrorism.'
'The point of it being what?'
'We don't know that yet,' Wesley told him.
'But this is far worse than any Tylenol killer or Unabomber,' I said. 'The destruction they cause is limited to whoever takes the capsules or opens the package. With a virus, it's going to spread far beyond the primary victim.'
'Dr Martin, what can you tell us about this particular virus?' Miles said.
'We have four traditional methods for testing for smallpox.' He stared stiffly at us from his screen. 'Electron microscopy, with which we have observed a direct visualization of variola.'
'Smallpox?' Miles almost shouted. 'You're sure about that?'
'Hold on,' Martin interrupted him. 'Let me finish. We also got a verification of antigenic identity using agar gel. Now, chick embryo chorioallantoic membrane culture, other tissue cultures are going to take two, three days. So we don't have those results now, but we do have PCR. It verified a pox. We just don't know which one. It's very odd, nothing currently known, not monkeypox, whitepox. Not classic variola major or minor, although it seems to be related.'
'Dr Scarpetta,' Fujitsubo spoke. 'Can you tell me what's in this facial spray, as best you know?'
'Distilled water and a fragrance. There were no ingredients listed, but generally that's what sprays like this are,' I said.
He was making notes. 'Sterile?' He looked back at us from the monitor.
'I would hope so, since the directions encourage you to spray it over your face and contact lenses,' I replied.
'Then my question,' Fujitsubo went on via satellite, 'is what kind of shelf life might we expect these contaminated sprays to have? Variola isn't all that stable in moist conditions.'
'A good point,' Martin said, adjusting his ear piece. 'It does very well when dried, and at room temperature can survive months to a year. It is sensitive to sunlight, but inside the atomizers, that wouldn't be a problem. Doesn't like heat, which, unfortunately, makes this an ideal time of year.'
'Then depending on what people do when they have these delivered,' I said, 'there could be a lot of duds out there.'
'Could be,' Martin hoped.
Wesley said, 'Clearly, the offender we're looking for is knowledgeable of infectious diseases.'
'Has to be,' Fujitsubo said. 'The virus had to be cultured, propagated, and if this is, in fact, terrorism, then the perpetrator is very familiar with basic laboratory techniques. He knew how to handle something like this and keep himself protected. We're assuming only one person is involved?'