Robin Cook - Outbreak

“You’re acting like an old pro,” said Tad as he turned on the interior lights in the lab, then motioned for Marissa to detach her air hose and step into the next chamber.

As Marissa waited for Tad in the small room where they would get their phenolic-disinfectant shower on the way out, she experienced an uncomfortable rush of claustrophobia. She fought against it, and it lessened as they entered the more spacious main lab. Her practical work with viruses helped since a lot of the equipment was more familiar. She now recognized the tissue culture incubators and even the chromatography units.

“Over here,” called Tad, after they’d both hooked up to an appropriate manifold. He took her to one of the lab benches, where there was a complicated setup of exotic glassware, and began explaining how he was separating out the RNA and the capsid proteins from the Ebola virus.

Marissa’s mind wandered. What she really wanted to see was where they stored the Ebola. She eyed the bolted insulated door. If she had to guess, she’d guess someplace in there. As soon as Tad paused, she asked if he would show her where they kept it.

He hesitated for a moment. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward the insulated door.

“Can I see?” asked Marissa.

Tad shrugged. Then he motioned for her to follow him. He waddled over to the side of the room and pointed out an appliance next to one of the tissue-culture incubators. He wasn’t pointing at the insulated door.

“In there?” questioned Marissa with surprise and disappointment. She’d expected a more appropriate container, one that would be safely locked away behind a bolted door.

“It looks just like my parents’ freezer.”

“It is,” said Tad. “We just modified it to take liquid-nitrogen coolant.” He pointed to the intake and exhaust hoses. “We keep the temperature at minus seventy degrees centigrade.”

Around the freezer and through the handle was a link chain secured by a combination lock. Tad lifted the lock and twirled the dial. “Whoever set this had a sense of humor. The magic sequence is 6-6-6.”

“It doesn’t seem very secure,” said Marissa.

Tad shrugged. “Who’s going to go in here, the cleaning lady?”

“I’m serious,” said Marissa.

“No one can get in the lab without an access card,” said Tad, opening the lock and pulling off the chain.

Big deal, thought Marissa.

Tad lifted the top of the freezer, and Marissa peered within, half expecting something to jump out at her. What she saw through a frozen mist were thousands upon thousands of tiny plastic-capped vials in metal trays.

With his plastic-covered hand, Tad wiped the frost off the inside of the freezer’s lid, revealing a chart locating the various viruses. He found the tray number for Ebola, then rummaged in the freezer like a shopper looking for frozen fish.

“Here’s your Ebola,” he said, selecting a vial and pretending to toss it at Marissa.

In a panic, she threw her hands out to catch the vial. She heard Tad’s laughter, which sounded hollow and distant coming from within his suit. Marissa felt a stab of irritation. This was hardly the place for such antics.

Holding the vial at arm’s length, Tad told Marissa to take it, but she shook her head no. An irrational fear gripped her.

“Doesn’t look like much,” he said, pointing at the bit of frozen material, “but there’s about a billion viruses in there.”

“Well, now that I’ve seen it, I guess you may as well put it away.” She didn’t talk as he replaced the vial in the metal tray, closed the freezer and redid the bicycle lock. Marissa then glanced around the lab. It was an alien environment, but the individual pieces of equipment seemed relatively commonplace.

“Is there anything here that’s not in any regular lab?”

“Regular labs don’t have air locks and a negative pressure system,” he said.

“No, I meant actual scientific equipment.”

Tad looked around the room. His eyes rested on the protective hoods over the workbenches in the center island. “Those are unique,” he said, pointing. “They’re called type 3 HEPA filter systems. Is that what you mean?”

“Are they only used for maximum containment labs?” asked Marissa.

“Absolutely. They have to be custom constructed.”

Marissa walked over to the hood in place over Tad’s setup. It was like a giant exhaust fan over a stove. “Who makes them?” she asked.

“You can look,” said Tad, touching a metal label affixed to the side. It said: Lab Engineering, South Bend, Indiana. Marissa wondered if anyone had ordered similar hoods lately. She knew the idea in the back of her mind was crazy, but ever since she’d decided that the Phoenix episode had been related to the custard, she hadn’t been able to stop wondering if any of the outbreaks had been deliberately caused. Or, if not, whether any physician had been doing some research which had gotten out of control.

“Hey, I thought you were interested in my work,” said Tad suddenly.

“I am,” insisted Marissa. “I’m just a little overwhelmed by this place.”

After a hesitation for Tad to remember where he was in his lecture, he recommenced. Marissa’s mind wandered. She made a mental note to write to Lab Engineering.

“So what do you think?” asked Tad when he finally finished.

“I’m impressed,” said Marissa, “… and very thirsty. Now let’s go get those drinks.”

On the way out, Tad took her into his tiny office and showed her how closely all his final results matched each other, suggesting that all the outbreaks were really one and the same.

“Have you compared the American strain with the African ones?” she asked him.

“Not yet,” admitted Tad.

“Do you have the same kind of charts or maps for them?”

“Sure do,” said Tad. He stepped over to his file cabinet and pulled out the lower drawer. It was so full that he had trouble extracting several manila folders. “Here’s the one for Sudan and here’s Zaire.” He stacked them on the desk and sat back down.

Marissa opened the first folder. The maps looked similar to her, but Tad pointed out significant differences in almost all of the six Ebola proteins. Then Marissa opened the second folder. Tad leaned forward and picked up one of the Zaire maps and placed it next to the ones he’d just completed.

“I don’t believe this.” He grabbed several other maps and placed them in a row on his desk.

“What?” asked Marissa.

“I’m going to have to run all these through a spectrophotometer tomorrow just to be sure.”

“Sure of what?”

“There’s almost complete structural homology here,” said Tad.

“Please,” said Marissa. “Speak English! What are you saying?”

“The Zaire ’76 strain is exactly the same as the strain from your three outbreaks.”

Marissa and Tad stared at one another for a few moments. Finally Marissa spoke. “That means there’s been just one outbreak from Zaire 1976 through Phoenix 1987.”

“That’s impossible,” said Tad, looking back at the maps.

“But that’s what you’re saying,” said Marissa.

“I know,” said Tad. “I guess it’s just a statistical freak.” He shook his head, his pale blue eyes returning to Marissa. “It’s amazing, that’s all I can say.”

After they crossed the catwalk to the main building, Marissa made Tad wait in her office while she sat and typed a short letter.

“Who’s so important that you have to write him tonight?” asked Tad.

“I just wanted to do it while it was on my mind,” said Marissa. She pulled the letter out of the machine and put it in an envelope. “There. It didn’t take too long, did it?” She searched her purse for a stamp. The addressee was Lab Engineering in South Bend, Indiana.