“I am,” Chet said. “Jack sees it as confirmation of his theories.”

“I’m worried it is going to frustrate our hypothetical terrorist,” Jack said. “It’s also going to teach him an unfortunate lesson.”

Both Laurie and Chet rolled their eyes to the ceiling and let out audible groans.

“Come on, you guys,” Jack said. “Hear me out. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that I’m right about some weirdo spreading these microbes in hopes of starting an epidemic. At first he picks the scariest, most exotic diseases he can think of, but he doesn’t know that they won’t really spread patient to patient. They are spread by arthropods having access to an infected reservoir. But after a few flops he figures this out and turns to a disease that is spread airborne. But he picks meningococcus. The problem with meningococcus is that it really isn’t a patient-to-patient disease either: it’s a carrier disease that’s mainly spread by an immune individual walking around and giving it to others. So now our weirdo is really frustrated, but he truly knows what he needs. He needs a disease that is spread mainly patient-to-patient by aerosol.”

“And what would you choose in this hypothetical scenario?” Chet asked superciliously.

“Let’s see,” Jack said. He pondered for a moment. “I’d use drug-resistant diphtheria, or maybe even drug-resistant pertussis. Those old standbys are making some devastating comebacks. Or you know what else would be perfect? Influenza! A pathological strain of influenza.”

“What an imagination!” Chet commented.

Laurie stood up. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said. “This conversation is too hypothetical for me.”

Chet did the same.

“Hey, isn’t anybody going to comment?” Jack said.

“You know how we feel,” Chet said. “This is just mental masturbation. It seems like the more you think and talk about this stuff the more you believe it. I mean, really, if it were one disease, okay, but now we’re up to four. Where would someone get these microbes? They are not the kind of thing you can go into your neighborhood deli and order. I’ll see you upstairs.”

Jack watched Laurie and Chet dispose of their trash and leave the lunchroom. He sat for a few moments and considered what Chet had said. Chet had a good point, one that Jack had not even considered. Where would someone get pathological bacteria? He really had no idea.

Jack got up and stretched his legs. After discarding his tray and sandwich wrappings, he followed the others up to the fifth floor. By the time he got to the office, Chet was already engrossed and didn’t look up.

Sitting down at his desk, Jack got all the folders together plus his notes and looked up the time of death of each of the women victims from central supply. To date, central supply had lost four people. Jack imagined that the department head would have to be actively recruiting to keep up with that type of attrition.

Next Jack looked up the time of death of each of the other infectious cases. For the times of death of the few he’d not autopsied, he called down to Bart Arnold, the chief PA.

When Jack had all the information it became immediately apparent that with each outbreak, it had been the woman from central supply to be the last to succumb. That suggested, but certainly didn’t prove, that in each instance those from central supply were the last to become infected. Jack asked himself what that meant, but couldn’t come up with an answer. Still, it was an extremely curious detail.

“I have to go back to the General,” Jack said suddenly. He stood up.

Chet didn’t even bother to look up. “Do what you have to do,” he said with resignation. “Not that my opinion counts.”

Jack pulled on his bomber jacket. “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got to look into this strange central supply connection. It could just be a coincidence, I agree, but it seems unlikely.”

“What about Bingham and what about those gang members Laurie mentioned?” Chet asked. “You’re taking a lot of risk.”

“Such is life,” Jack said. He gave Chet a tap on the shoulder on his way to the hallway. Jack had just reached the threshold when his phone rang. He debated whether to take the time to answer it. It was usually someone from one of the labs.

“Want me to get it?” Chet offered when he saw Jack hesitate.

“No, I’m here, and I might as well,” Jack said. He returned to his desk and picked up the receiver.

“Thank God you are there!” Terese said with obvious relief. “I was terrified I wouldn’t get you, at least not in time.”

“What on earth is the matter?” Jack asked. His pulse quickened. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she was acutely upset.

“There’s been a catastrophe,” she said. “I have to see you immediately. Can I come over to your office?”

“What happened?” Jack asked.

“I can’t talk now,” Terese said. “I can’t risk it with everything that has happened. I’ve just got to see you.”

“We’re sort of in the middle of an emergency ourselves,” Jack said. “And I’m just on my way out.”

“It’s very important,” Terese said. “Please!”

Jack immediately relented, especially with Terese’s selfless response to his emergency Friday night.

“All right,” Jack said. “Since I was just leaving, I’ll come to you. Where would you like to meet?”

“Were you going uptown or downtown?” Terese asked.

“Uptown,” Jack said.

“Then let’s meet at the café where we had coffee on Sunday,” Terese said.

“I’ll be right there,” Jack said.

“Wonderful!” Terese asserted. “I’ll be waiting.” Then she hung up.

Jack replaced the receiver and self-consciously looked over at Chet. “Did you hear any of that?” Jack asked.

“It was hard not to,” Chet said. “What do you think happened?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Jack said.

True to his word, Jack left immediately. Exiting from the front of the medical examiner facility, he caught a cab on First Avenue. Despite the normal afternoon traffic, he made it uptown in reasonable time.

The café was crowded. He found Terese sitting toward the rear at a small banquette. He took the seat opposite her. She didn’t make any motion to get up. She was dressed as usual in a smart suit. Her jaw was clenched. She looked angry.

She leaned forward. “You are not going to believe this,” she said in a forced whisper.

“Did the president and the CEO not like your presentation?” Jack asked. It was the only thing he could think of.

Terese made a motion of dismissal with her hand. “I canceled the presentation,” she said.

“Why?” Jack asked.

“Because I’d had the sense to schedule an early breakfast with a woman acquaintance at National Health,” Terese said. “She’s a vice president in marketing who I happened to have gone to Smith College with. I’d had a brainstorm about leaking the campaign to some higher-ups through her. I was so confident. But she shocked me by telling me that under no circumstances would the campaign fly.”

“But why?” Jack asked. As much as he disliked medical advertising, he’d considered the ads Terese had come up with the best he’d seen.

“Because National Health is deathly afraid of any reference to nosocomial infections,” Terese said angrily. Then she leaned forward again and whispered. “Apparently they have had some of their own trouble lately.”

“What kind of trouble?” Jack asked.

“Nothing like the Manhattan General,” Terese said. “But serious nonetheless, even with a few deaths. But the real point is that our own account executive people, specifically Helen Robinson and her boss, Robert Barker, knew all this and didn’t tell me.”

“That’s counterproductive,” Jack said. “I thought you corporate types were all working toward the same end.”

“Counterproductive!” Terese practically shouted, causing the nearby diners to turn their heads. Terese closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself.