“Yes,” Jack said. “This is Dr. Billy Rubin and I’d like to place an order.”
“Do you have an account with National Biologicals?” the woman asked.
“Not yet,” Jack said. “In fact, for this order I’d just like to use my American Express card.”
“I’m sorry, but we only accept Visa or MasterCard,” the woman said.
“No problem,” Jack said. “Visa will be fine.”
“Okay,” the woman said cheerfully. “Could I have your first order?”
“How about some meningococcus,” Jack said.
The woman laughed. “You’ll have to be more specific,” she said. “I need the serologic group, the serotype, and the subtype. We have hundreds of meningococcus subspecies.”
“Uh-oh!” Jack said, pretending to have been suddenly paged. “An emergency has just come up! I’m afraid I’ll have to call back.”
“No problem,” the woman said. “Call anytime. As you know, we’re here twenty-four hours a day to serve your culture needs.” Jack hung up the phone. He was stunned.
“I have the feeling you didn’t believe me,” Beth said.
“I didn’t,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t realize the availability of these pathogens. But I’d still like you to look around here and see if these of fending bugs might somehow be stashed here now. Could you do that?”
“I suppose,” Beth said without her usual enthusiasm.
“But I want you to be discreet,” Jack said. “And careful. I want this just between you and me.” Jack took out one of his cards and wrote his home number on the back. He handed it to her. “You can call me anytime, day or night, if you find anything or if you get into any trouble because of me. Okay?”
Beth took the card, examined it briefly, and then stuck it into her lab coat pocket. “Okay,” she said.
“Would you mind if I asked for your number?” Jack said. “I might have some more questions myself. Obviously microbiology isn’t my forte.”
Beth thought for a moment, then relented. She got out a piece of paper and wrote her phone number down. She handed it to Jack, who put it into his wallet.
“I think you’d better go now,” she said.
“I’m on my way,” Jack said. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” Beth said. She was her old self again.
Preoccupied, Jack walked out of the microbiology section and headed across the main portion of the lab. He still couldn’t believe how easy it was to order pathological cultures.
About twenty feet from the double swinging doors that connected the lab to the reception area, Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Backing through the doors was a figure that looked alarmingly like Martin. The individual was carrying a tray loaded with prepared throat swabs ready for plating.
Jack felt like a criminal caught in the act. For a fraction of a second he contemplated fleeing or trying to hide. But there was no time. Besides, irritation at the absurdity of his fear of being recognized inspired him to stand his ground.
Martin held the door open for a second figure Jack recognized as Richard. He, too, was carrying a tray of throat swabs. It was Richard who saw Jack first. Martin was a quick second. He recognized Jack immediately, despite the mask.
“Hi, folks,” Jack said.
“You…!” Martin cried.
“It is I,” Jack said cheerfully. He grabbed the end of his face mask with his thumb and forefinger and pulled it away from his face to give Martin an unobstructed look.
“You’ve been warned about sneaking around in here,” Martin snapped.
“You’re trespassing.”
“Not so,” Jack said. He produced his medical examiner badge and pointed it toward Martin’s face. “Just making an official site visit. There’re been a few more regrettable infectious deaths over here at the General. At least this time you were able to make the diagnosis on your own.”
“We’ll see whether this is a legitimate site visit,” Martin said. He heaved the tray of throat swabs onto the countertop and snatched up the nearest phone. He told the operator to put him through to Charles Kelley.
“Couldn’t we just discuss this like grown-ups?” Jack asked.
Martin ignored the question as he waited for Kelley.
“Out of curiosity, maybe you could just tell me why you were so accommodating on my first visit and so nasty on my next,” Jack said.