“It wouldn’t be so strange to find it on occasion in any standard lab,” Beth said.

“Really?” Jack questioned. He’d assumed that outside of the CDC and maybe a few academic centers, plague bacteria would be a rarity.

“Intermittently labs have to get cultures of all different bacteria to test the efficacy of their reagents,” Beth said as she continued to work. “Antibodies, which are often the main ingredient in many modern reagents, can deteriorate, and if they do the tests would give false negatives.”

“Oh, of course,” Jack said. He felt stupid. He should have remembered all this. All laboratory tests had to be constantly checked.

“Where do you get something like plague bacteria?”

“From National Biologicals in Virginia,” Beth said.

“What’s the process for getting it?” Jack asked.

“Just call up and order it,” Beth said.

“Who can do that?” Jack asked.

“Anybody,” Beth said.

“You’re joking,” Jack said. Somehow he’d thought the security at a minimum would be comparable to that involved in getting a controlled drug like morphine.

“I’m not joking,” Beth said. “I’ve done it many times.”

“You don’t need some special permit?” Jack asked.

“I have to get the signature of the director of the lab on the purchase order,” Beth said. “But that’s just to guarantee that the hospital will pay for it.”

“So let me get this straight,” Jack said. “Anyone can call these people up and have plague sent to them?”

“As long as their credit is okay,” Beth said.

“How do the cultures come?” Jack said.

“Usually by mail,” Beth said. “But if you pay extra and need it faster you can get overnight service.”

Jack was appalled, but he tried to hide his reaction. He was embarrassed at his own naïveté. “Do you have this organization’s phone number?” he asked.

Beth pulled open a file drawer to her immediate right, leafed through some files, and pulled out a folder. Opening it up, she took out a sheet and indicated the letterhead.

Jack wrote the number down. Then he pointed to the phone. “Do you mind?” he asked.

Beth pushed the phone in his direction but glanced up at the clock as she did so.

“I’ll just be a second,” Jack said. He still couldn’t believe what he’d just been told.

Jack dialed the number. The phone was answered and a recording gave him the name of the company and asked him to make a selection. Jack pressed two for sales. Presently a charmingly friendly voice came on the line and asked if she could be of assistance.

“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 offending 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’s badge and pointed it toward Martin’s face. “Just making an official site visit. There’ve 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.

“In the interim Mr. Kelley informed me what your attitude had been on that first day,” Martin said. “And he told me he had learned that you were here without authorization.”

Jack was about to respond when it became clear that Kelley had come on the line. Martin informed the administrator that he’d again found Dr. Stapleton lurking in the lab.

While Martin listened to an apparent monologue from Kelley, Jack moved over and leaned casually against the nearest countertop. Richard, on the other hand, stood rooted in place, still supporting his tray of throat swabs.

Martin punctuated Kelley’s apparent tirade with a few strategically placed yeses and a final “Yes sir!” at the end of the conversation. As he hung up the phone he treated Jack to a supercilious smile.

“Mr. Kelley told me to inform you,” Martin said haughtily, “that he will be personally calling the mayor’s office, the Commissioner of Health, and your chief. He’ll be lodging a formal complaint concerning your harassment of this hospital while we’ve been making every effort to deal with a state of emergency. He also told me to inform you that our security will be up here in a few moments to escort you off the premises.”