Robin Cook - Vector

It had been a good decision. Not only had he been able to earn some decent money, but the work took his mind off his worries, at least while he’d been busy. As soon as there was a lull, it was a different story, and Yuri had started for home. Besides, he had other, more important things to do than spend the day driving. He was eager to get down into his lab.

Even though he wasn’t hungry, Yuri forced himself to eat some cold cereal. His empty stomach was growling from the previous night’s pizza and too much coffee, and now vodka. As he ate, he eyed the telephone. The forensic investigator had given him a number to call that afternoon to find out when Connie’s body would be released to the funeral home Yuri had selected. Yuri wondered if she was already set to be moved. As far as he was concerned, the sooner Connie was out of the medical examiner’s office the better.

Yuri dialed. To his surprise the phone was answered by a person rather than an answering machine. He identified himself and asked about his wife’s body.

“What was that name again?” the operator asked.

“Davydov,” Yuri reiterated. “Connie Davydov.”

“Hold on a second, let me check.”

Yuri felt his pulse quicken. He hated dealing with bureaucracy of any sort.

“I don’t seem to find a Davydov,” the operator said. “Are you sure your wife came to the Brooklyn office?”

“Of course!” Yuri said. “I was there myself.”

“How do you spell Davydov?”

Yuri spelled out his surname. His anxiety mounted. Maybe they’d made the diagnosis and the police were called. Maybe the police were already on their way to his house that very minute. Maybe...

“Oh, here it is,” the woman said. “No wonder I couldn’t find it. Your wife wasn’t autopsied.”

“You mean they haven’t done it yet?” Yuri questioned.

“No, I mean the doctors decided she didn’t need to be posted,” the operator said.

“Why not?” Yuri asked. It sounded too good to be true.

“They don’t tell us operators anything like that. You’ll have to speak to the duty doctor. Today it’s Dr. Randolph Sanders. Just a moment!”

Yuri tried to get the operator’s attention, since he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to the duty doctor, but she’d put him on hold. Elevator music flowed out of the receiver.

Yuri struggled to control his excitement as he waited. The fact that it had been decided not to autopsy Connie was unexpected good news, provided it was true. He drummed his fingers nervously on the countertop. He took another swig of vodka.

“This is Dr. Sanders,” a voice said, cutting off the music. “Can I help you?”

Nervously Yuri explained who he was and what he’d been told.

“Ah, yes,” Dr. Sanders said. “I know the case well. I was the one who decided the autopsy was not necessary.”

“So the body can be released?” Yuri asked.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Sanders said. “It can be picked up at anytime by the funeral home you’ve chosen. I believe that’s Strickland’s.”

“That’s right,” Yuri said. “Should I call them to let them know?”

“I’m sure our mortuary office has done that already,” Dr. Sanders said. “Or at least they’ll be doing it very soon.”

“Thank you very much,” Yuri said, purposefully toning down his excitement lest it be interpreted correctly. “Out of curiosity, why the change of plans? I mean, I’m relieved there was no autopsy because I was not happy about my wife’s body being disturbed.”

“It was not really a change in plans,” Dr. Sanders explained. “Not every patient who’s sent in is autopsied. There is a constant evaluation of the need. In your wife’s case the attending physician certified the cause of death, which was certainly consistent with her history of asthma. Of course, her weight probably didn’t help her situation either.”

“I’m sure not,” Yuri said. “Thank you for talking with me.”

“My pleasure,” Dr. Sanders said. “And my condolences for your loss.”

“It is a difficult time for me,” Yuri said. “Thank you for your concern.”

Yuri replaced the receiver as a wonderful sense of self-satisfaction spread through him. It was as if the last barrier for Operation Wolverine had crumbled and the goal was in sight. He couldn’t wait to tell Curt.

Yuri rinsed his cereal dish, polished off the rest of the vodka, then headed down into the basement. He whistled as he opened the lock on the entry chamber. In his euphoria he didn’t even feel particularly tired.

He took off the padlock on the storeroom and stepped into the space. Facing the shelving he selected the culture nutrients and other supplies he needed. He brought it all out and placed it next to the door into the lab. Then he donned his breathing apparatus and finally the hazmat suit. When he was ready he opened the inner door and lifted in all the supplies.

The first thing he did was take out the anthrax cakes from the dryer and put them into the pulverizer. When he turned the pulverizer on he was thankful for the sound of the compressed air inside his hood. It helped compete with the racket of the steel ball bearings in the metal cylinder.

The next order of business was to harvest more anthrax spores from the fermenter and get the slurry into the drier. After that was completed, Yuri recharged the fermenter with fresh nutrients to let the bacteria continue their rabid reproduction and spore formation.

Finally, Yuri turned to the second fermenter. Once again he checked the level of growth of the Clostridium botulinum and once again it was less than it should have been. Yuri was still mystified, but no longer concerned now that he was going to convert the fermenter to Bacillus anthracis . With both fermenters producing the anthrax spores, he’d have the required eight to ten pounds in a matter of days.

Pausing in his labors, Yuri pondered what he should do with the existing culture of the Clostridium botulinum . Even though the growth had been far less than anticipated, the unit contained gargantuan numbers of the bacteria. He looked around for some kind of storage facility. The only thing that might have worked was using the empty nutrient containers, but he’d been discarding them as he’d gone along. What he currently had on hand wasn’t enough to hold the fermenter’s volume.

There was only one other solution: let the entire contents of the fermenter drain directly into the sewer. Yuri tried to think if there would be any consequences that might alert the authorities. He stood for a moment and pondered the consequences, but he couldn’t think of any. He couldn’t imagine that sewage treatment plants would worry about the bacterial content of the influx. They only worried about the outflow.

Confident of his decision, Yuri got out the plumbing tools he left in the lab and set to work. The job only required opening a few valves, since Yuri had originally plumbed the fermenters to a drain for flushing purposes.

With the appropriate valves open, Yuri watched the fermenter’s level fall. A gurgle issued forth from a relief valve on top of the unit.

Once the fermenter was empty, Yuri flushed it out. Then he began loading it with fresh nutrient broth. Finally he seeded it with a fresh growth of anthrax from his original culture he’d isolated from the Oklahoma soil sample.

When Yuri was finished, he straightened up. He gave the fermenter a pat and told it to make him proud. Then he turned his attention back to the pulverizer to see how much time was left on the current run. As soon as that was over and he’d unloaded the powder, he planned on going upstairs and taking a long-needed and deserved nap.

Tuesday, October 19