Robin Cook - Toxin

"I don't know exactly," Kim said. "Maybe you are a little too…" Kim paused as he struggled for a word. Finally he said: "…too elegant, I guess. I know it's probably unfair, but I'd expect someone to be more…"

"More what?" Marsha asked as Kim paused again. She was enjoying Kim's mild discomfort.

"I guess tomboyish," Kim said. He chuckled. "I suppose that's a stupid thing to say."

Marsha laughed too. At least he could hear how ridiculous he sounded.

"If you don't mind my asking," Kim said, "how old are you? I know that's an inappropriate question, but unless you are some kind of child prodigy, you're not in your early twenties like I'd guessed."

"Heavens, no," Marsha said. "I'm twenty-nine, pushing thirty."

Marsha leaned forward and turned on the windshield wipers. It had started to rain. It was already as dark as pitch even though it was only a little after six in the evening.

"How are we going to work this?" Kim questioned.

"Work what?" Marsha asked.

"My getting into Mercer Meats." Kim said.

"I told you, it won't be a problem," Marsha said. "The day shift is long gone along with the supervisors. Only the overtime cleaning crew will be there, along with a security guard."

"Well, the guard's not going to be excited about letting me in," Kim said. "Maybe I should just wait in the car."

"Security is not going to be a problem," Marsha said. "I have both my USDA and Mercer Meats I.D.'s."

"That's fine for you," Kim said. "But what about me?"

"Don't worry," Marsha said. "They know me. They've never once even asked to see my I.D. If it comes up, I'll say you're my supervisor. Or I'll say I'm training you." She laughed.

"I'm not dressed like someone from the USDA," Kim said.

Marsha shot Kim a glance and giggled some more. "What does a night security man know? I think you look bizarre enough to pass for most anything."

"You seem awfully cavalier about this," Kim commented.

"Well, what's the worst-case scenario?" Marsha said. "We don't get in."

"And you get into trouble," Kim said.

"I've already thought of that," Marsha said. "What happens, happens."

Marsha exited the expressway and started through Bartonville. They had to stop at the single traffic light in the town, where Mercer Street met Main Street.

"When I think about hamburger," Marsha said, "I'm surprised anyone eats it. I was a half-ass vegetarian before this job. Now I'm a committed one."

"Coming from a USDA meat inspector, that's not very reassuring," Kim said.

"It turns my stomach when I think of what hamburger has in it," Marsha said.

"What do you mean?" Kim said. "It's muscle."

"Muscle and a bunch of other stuff," Marsha said. "Have you ever heard of the Advanced Meat Recovery System?"

"Can't say that I have," Kim said.

"It's a high-pressure device that they use to clean every scrap off cattle bones," Marsha said. "It results in a gray slurry that they dye red and add to the hamburger."

"That's disgusting," Kim said.

"And central-nervous tissue," Marsha said. "Like spinal cord. That gets into hamburger all the time."

"Really?" Kim asked.

"Absolutely," Marsha said. "And that's worse than it sounds. You've heard of mad cow disease?"

"Who hasn't?" Kim said. "That's an illness that terrifies me. The idea of a heat-resistant protein that you get by eating and that is fatal is the ultimate horror. Thank God we don't have it in this country."

"We don't have it yet," Marsha said. "At least it hasn't been seen so far. But if you ask me, it's just a matter of time. Do you know what is thought to have caused mad cow disease in England?"

"I believe it's thought to have come from feeding rendered sheep to the cows," Kim said. "Sheep that were sick with scrapie, the sheep equivalent."

"Exactly," Marsha said. "And in this country there's supposed to be a ban on feeding rendered sheep to cows. But you know something, there's no enforcement, and I was told by insiders that as many as a quarter of the renderers admit in private they don't pay any attention to the ban."

"In other words, the same circumstances that resulted in mad cow disease in England are present here?"

"Precisely," Marsha said. "And with spinal cord and the like routinely getting into hamburger, the chain to humans is in place. That's why I say it's just a matter of time before we see the first cases."

"Good God!" Kim exclaimed. "The more I hear about this shoddy business, the more appalled I get. I'd no idea about any of this."

"Nor does the general public," Marsha said.

The white hulk of Mercer Meats loomed up, and Marsha turned into its parking area. In contrast to earlier that day, there were few cars. She pulled up close to the front door in the same spot she'd been in that morning. She turned off the engine.

"Ready?" she asked.

"You're sure I should come?" Kim asked.

"Come on!" Marsha said. She opened the door and got out.

The front door was locked. Marsha rapped on it. Inside, the guard was seated at the round reception desk, reading a magazine. He responded by getting up and coming to the door. He was an elderly gentleman with a thin mustache. His security uniform appeared to be several sizes too big.

"Mercer Meats is closed," he said through the glass.

Marsha held up her Mercer Meats I.D. card. The guard squinted at it, then unlocked and opened the door. Marsha immediately pushed in. "Thanks," she said simply.

Kim followed. He could tell the guard looked at him suspiciously. but the man didn't say anything. He merely locked the door.

Kim had to run to catch up to Marsha, who was already beyond the reception desk and briskly walking down the corridor.

"What did I tell you?" she said. "It was no problem at all."

The security guard walked over to the end of the reception area and peered down the hall. He watched as Marsha and Kim disappeared into the changing room leading to the production floor. He returned to his desk and picked up the phone. The number he needed was on a Post-it stuck to the edge of the counter.

"Mr. Cartwright," the guard said when the call was answered, "that USDA lady, Miss Baldwin, who you asked me to watch for, just walked in the door with another guy.

"Was her companion dressed in a white lab coat, something like a doctor's?" Jack asked.

"Yup," the security man said.

"When they leave, get them both to sign out," Jack said. "I want proof they were there."

"I'll do that, sir," the guard said.

Jack did not bother to replace the receiver. Instead he pressed the appropriate button on his speed-dialer and waited. A moment later, Everett 's stentorian voice reverberated through the line.

"Marsha Baldwin and the doctor are back at the plant," Jack said.

"Good grief!" Everett sputtered. "That's not what I wanted to hear. How the devil did you find out?"

"I left word with security to call if they showed up," Jack said. "Just in case.

"Good thinking," Everett said. "I wonder what on earth they're doing there."

"My guess is they're going to try to trace some meat," Jack said. "That's what he asked me to do this morning."

"Let's not guess," Everett said. "You get the hell over there and see what they're up to. Then get back to me. I don't want this to ruin my evening."

Jack hung up the phone. He didn't want it to ruin his evening either. He'd been looking forward to the dinner at Bobby Bo's for a month and had certainly not anticipated having to go back to the plant. He was in a foul mood when he got his coat and went out to the garage for his car.

Kim stamped his feet and flapped his arms. He didn't quite understand it, but the thirty-five-degree temperature of the patty room felt more like twenty-five or even fifteen. He'd pulled on a Mercer Meats white coat over his own hospital coat, but they were just cotton, and underneath he had on only his scrubs. The three layers were not nearly enough insulation against the chill, especially since he was essentially standing around. The shower-like white cap didn't help at all.