Michael Palmer - Natural Causes

Her data, amassed over nearly a year, and involving thousands of interviews and cultures, pointed the finger of responsibility directly at the U.S. military. The army, she maintained, was using what they thought was a biologically inactive bacterial marker to test germ warfare/air current theories in the tunnels of the BART-the Bay Area Rapid Transit system. Because of the sensitive nature of her accusation, Rosa did not reveal her findings until her case was, to all intents, airtight. But somewhere along the line, she had spoken of them to the wrong person.

A blue-ribbon commission of the country's foremost epidemiologists and infectious disease specialists was appointed by Congress to validate her conclusions. What they found, instead, were critical pieces of data missing all along the line. Computer programs that Rosa herself had designed functioned poorly or not at all. Probability calculations failed to support hypotheses. Laboratory technicians denied ever having received specimens that she swore to having sent. Finally, and most ignominiously, one expert on the commission quite easily traced the source of the bacteria to a dump site on the edge of the city. The directors of the private laboratory responsible for the disposal error readily admitted it. They were fined but soon after, Rosa learned, were the beneficiaries of a hefty military contract.

"So," she said, "the dumping site was cleaned up, and of course, the rate of infection began to drop. I was put into mothballs, so to speak, and was brought out for this investigation only when no one else was available to do it."

"They sabotaged your work. I don't believe it," Sarah said. "Correction. Actually, I do believe it."

"Well, at least now you may understand why I have maintained some distance from everyone involved in this case-including you."

"Please, Rosa, don't worry about it. Just do your work."

"Tomorrow morning I am returning to Atlanta for a while. My investigation is still in a most preliminary phase. But I have come across some things that disturb me, and I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"It's not what you think," Rosa said, patting her reassuringly on the arm. "In fact, I've wanted for several days to tell you that my initial studies are pointing toward some sort of infection, not a toxin or poison. But I–I've just been reluctant to speak of my work with anybody."

They had reached the doorway of the old stucco Victorian where Rosa was staying.

"Then what is there to warn me about?"

"Sarah, you are a kind and caring person-a credit to your profession. I can see the pain the charges against you have caused. I don't want to go into details just yet, but I have reason to believe someone may be trying to keep me from getting at the truth in these cases. Assuming that person is not you-and that is an assumption I have chosen to make-you must be careful whom you talk to and whom you trust."

"But-"

"Please, Sarah. Sharing this much has been difficult for me. I'll tell you more when it seems right to do so. Meanwhile, I have a great deal of work yet to do, and you have a defense to put together."

Sarah sighed. "Your assumption is right, you know. I'm not that person."

Again, Rosa patted her arm. "I do know, dear. Just be patient with me, and be very, very careful."

Sarah waited until the epidemiologist was inside. Then she pedaled slowly toward the inner city. For a time, she worked at clearing her mind entirely. Failing that, she tried to focus on her new lawyer and the strange, stuttering little man. But always, her thoughts drifted back to Rosa Suarez's cryptic warning.

Just be patient with me, and be very, very careful.

If the woman's intention was to frighten her, Sarah acknowledged finally, she had done a pretty damn good job.

July 21

The shop of the herbalist Kwong Tian-wen occupied the ground floor and basement of a dilapidated, four-story brick tenement. Sarah paid more than customary attention to her appearance and to selecting an outfit, then left her apartment at seven-fifteen and walked the few miles from the North End to Chinatown. She sensed some apprehension at having to deal with Jeremy Mallon, and was still bewildered by the frightened, stuttering man and by Rosa Suarez's strange warning. But the morning was bright and unusually clear, and she felt upbeat-about taking this step to eliminate her herbal supplement from suspicion and about seeing Matt Daniels again.

She had known Kwong from her days at the Ettinger Institute, and following her return from medical school, she had checked him out with several members of the Boston holistic community. He was still highly regarded. Nevertheless, she interviewed him twice before selecting him as her supplier. He spoke almost no English, but Sarah's once-decent Chinese was still good enough to conduct business with him. When she needed a translator, Kwong would rap his cane on the ceiling or strike it against a certain steam pipe. And within a minute or two, one of his American-born grandchildren would appear.

Sarah was impressed with the man's knowledge and drawn to his consistently optimistic outlook. And of course, there were the striking similarities-physical and metaphysical-between him and Louis Han. She could not help but believe that in Kwong, she was getting a glimpse of her mentor had he lived into his seventies.

Initially Sarah picked up her herbal orders herself. But as the pressures of her medical training mounted, she had begun having the mixture delivered. Now, perhaps for the first time, she realized how much she missed her visits to the shop. The frayed connection with Kwong was, she thought sadly, just another item on the list of casualties exacted by her residency.

The shop was on a narrow street, barely more than an alley, off Kneeland. As Sarah rounded the corner, she saw the old man and Debbie, one of his granddaughters, standing by the building. She was wondering why the two weren't inside when she noticed the yellow vinyl ribbon crisscrossing the doorway and windows. It pained her to think of Kwong's humiliation and confusion when some sheriff's deputy or constable showed up with a court order to seal off the place.

"Hello, Mr. Kwong," Sarah said in Cantonese. "Hello, Debbie. I'm sorry for this." She gestured toward the ribbons.

Kwong brushed off the apology with a gnarled hand, but Sarah could tell he was agitated. She suddenly realized that it had been perhaps a year since they had actually seen one another. His gray-white goatee was unkempt and stained with nicotine below his lip. His blue silk robe-possibly the only outfit she had ever seen him wear-was threadbare and frayed. Had he aged so? Or had she simply been viewing him through younger, more naive eyes?

"A man has been guarding the shop ever since they put up those ribbons," Debbie said. "He goes from the alley back around to here, and then to the alley again. He said he wants to make sure no one tampers with anything inside. What does he mean?"

"Nothing, Debbie," Sarah said. "Things will be back to normal for you before you know it. I'm just so sorry that you and your grandfather have to go through this at all."

The old man's frailty was striking. Sarah prayed that Mallon and his people would simply take whatever samples they wanted and leave. If they tried intimidating Kwong in any way, it would be up to Matt to protect him at all costs. She was about to try to explain the situation to Kwong through Debbie when Matt entered the street from the far end. Eli Blankenship was lumbering along beside him, gesticulating forcefully, as if to get across a difficult point. Sarah was relieved to have him along. There was no finer intellect at MCB, nor any more imposing physical presence, either. Matt was reasonably tall and well built, but next to the professor, he looked slight.