Robin Cook - Vector

“Let’s get the goddamn thing in the garage before we get into that,” Curt said.

“Okay,” Yuri said. “I’ll be right out.” He closed the door. Running into the kitchen, he picked up the water and dashed back into Connie’s room. He extended the glass toward her. When she tried to take it, her arm flailed aimlessly, missing entirely.

“I’m too weak,” she admitted. Her arm flopped helplessly back onto the bed. “It’s even hard for me to breathe.”

“Never mind,” Yuri said. “I’ll hold the glass for you.” He lowered the tumbler and pressed it to her lips as she tried vainly to raise her head. She sputtered and the water dribbled down the side of her face. She coughed and her face turned red.

“I’ll be right back to give you some more,” Yuri said. He tried to put the glass on the bedside table. Since there was no room he put it on the floor in the midst of the broken shards. Connie tried to speak in the midst of her coughing but Yuri ignored her.

Dashing out of the room Yuri went to the kitchen to get his keys before returning to the front door. When he opened it, it was apparent Curt was none too happy.

“Thanks for leaving us out here in the goddamn dark,” Curt snapped.

“Sorry,” Yuri said. He pulled the door shut behind him. “Things are just coming to a head with Connie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Curt demanded.

“She didn’t get the toxin until late,” Yuri explained. He started toward the garage. “She’s just starting to have symptoms.”

“But you’re sure she’s going to check out,” Curt said. He followed Yuri while Steve went around to get into the Wouton truck.

“That’s my guess,” Yuri said. He opened the side door to the garage.

“Wait a second!” Curt said. He grabbed Yuri’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “At this point there’s no room for guessing. Any screw up could undermine this whole operation. I’m only interested in sureties.”

“I gave her enough stuff to kill everybody in Brooklyn,” Yuri shot back. “Is that good enough for you? Give me a break!”

Yuri and Curt glared at each other for a moment in the dark shadows beneath the eaves of the garage.

“I want to make sure you truly understand the need for security,” Curt spat. “This whole mess with your mystery wife has us as nervous as hell.”

“I’m taking care of it like we agreed,” Yuri retorted.

“I hope so,” Curt said. “The fact of the matter is, we cannot take any chances from here on out. Earlier tonight I mentioned we’d had an infiltrator in the People’s Aryan Army. Brad Cassidy. What I didn’t say was that he was working for the FBI.”

“Oh no!” Yuri moaned. “What tipped them off?”

“Nothing about Operation Wolverine,” Curt said. “We believe they’re concerned about our militia in general. Since none of the troops have even the slightest inkling about the big plan, we’re not directly at risk. The bureau must have picked up something from Steve’s contacting other militias on the Internet on behalf of the PAA. But the point is, we’ve got to be extremely careful. And the sooner we launch the operation the better.”

“My feelings exactly,” Yuri said.

“Have you thought any more about switching the second fermenter to anthrax?”

“I’m going to do it as soon as I have time,” Yuri said. “Probably tomorrow. As soon as this Connie business is over and done.”

“Good,” Curt said. “Now let’s get this pest control truck off the street before someone sees the damn thing. I’m sure your neighbors would begin to wonder what kind of pests we’re dealing with in the middle of the night.”

Yuri snapped on the light before entering the garage. He skirted around the back of his taxicab. As soon as he had the rollaway door up, Steve pulled the Wouton pickup inside. Yuri closed the door behind him and locked it.

Curt stepped around to the back of the vehicle. He unhooked the edge of the tarp and folded it back to reveal the apparatus sitting in the truck’s bed. “Do you recognize this thing?” he asked Yuri.

“Not specifically,” Yuri admitted. “But those orange things look like spray nozzles.”

“Bingo!” Curt said. He reached over and gave the piece of machinery a pat. “It’s a Power Row Crop Duster. Whatever powder you’re using goes into this hopper.” Curt pointed out the component just as the Wouton driver had done that summer.

“So the agent doesn’t have to be mixed with fluid?” Yuri questioned. His face had lit up like a young boy with a Christmas bike.

“Nope,” Curt responded. “Powder in and powder out, and I’ll tell you, it’s one wicked little engine. We were told the fan in there is capable of putting out a thousand cubic feet of air a minute. The amount of powder you want in that thousand cubic feet can be varied by the dial on the metering device.”

“It’s perfect,” Yuri said. He was impressed. It was better than he’d hoped.

“I’m glad you approve,” Curt said. “I don’t mind telling you it took a bit of work and a lot of aggravation getting this thing. Now it’s up to you to come through with your end of the bargain.”

“I’m working on it,” Yuri promised. “Have no fear!”

“I hope so,” Curt said.

They shook hands before stepping back out into the night. The two Americans climbed into their truck. Yuri stood by the side of the road.

“Let’s talk again tomorrow,” Curt said. “We’ll be interested in how the rest of the evening goes as far as your wife is concerned.”

“Okay,” Yuri said. He waved as Curt started his engine and drove off.

Yuri stood for a moment watching the Dodge Ram’s taillights until they disappeared where Oceanview Lane butted into Oceanview Avenue. He was still tired, but he felt better than he had all day. Uncertainties that had been plaguing him earlier had vanished. He knew in his gut that Operation Wolverine was imminently to come to pass as planned. He even allowed himself a half smile as he realized that soon he would stand in the company of other great Soviet patriots, even some of the greatest from the Great Patriotic War.

A gust of wind rustled dead leaves in the alley and caused Yuri’s torn screen door to bang repeatedly against its jamb. The noise yanked Yuri back to the present reality. There was still work to be done before the great event, and the immediate concern was Connie.

Hurrying back inside, Yuri went to his wife’s door. He paused for a moment to listen. All he could hear was the TV. Slowly he opened the door, unsure of what he’d see.

Connie had not moved, but her color had changed drastically. Her skin had taken on a dark mauve tint, particularly her lips.

Yuri advanced to the bed.

“Connie?” Yuri called. He jiggled her shoulder. She didn’t move. He picked up her arm. It was flaccid. He let it fall back to the bed. Leaning down, he put his ear next to her mouth. It was only in that way that he could tell she was breathing, although just barely. He grasped her wrist. He could feel a pulse, but it was rapid and weak.

He straightened up. He wondered if it was time to call emergency or if he should wait a little longer. It was a hard decision, because he didn’t want her waking up when she was given oxygen in the emergency room. If that happened she might be able to tell the doctors and nurses the progression of her symptoms. At the same time, Yuri felt it would be best if she was still alive when she got to the hospital. He reasoned there would be fewer questions about why she hadn’t been brought in sooner.

Yuri turned on the bedside light before pulling open her right eye. Her pupil was widely dilated and fixed. As far as he was concerned, that meant it was time to call emergency.