“You got a machine pistol?” Twin asked.

“No,” BJ said.

Twin opened the lower drawer of the desk and took out a Tec like the one he’d given to Reginald. “Don’t lose this,” he said. “We only have so many.”

“No problem,” BJ said. He took the gun and handled it with reverence, turning it over slowly in his hands.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Twin asked.

“You finished?” BJ asked.

“Of course I’m finished,” Twin said. “What do you want, me to come along and hold your hand? Get out of here so you can come back and tell me it’s done.”

• • •

Jack could not concentrate on his other cases no matter how hard he tried. It was almost noon, and he’d accomplished a pitifully small amount of paperwork. He couldn’t stop worrying about the influenza case and wondering what had happened to Beth Holderness. What could she have found?

Jack threw down his pen in disgust. He wanted desperately to go to the General and visit Cheveau and his lab, but he knew he couldn’t. Cheveau would undoubtedly call in the marines at a minimum, and Jack would get himself fired. Jack knew he had to wait for the results with the probe from National Biologicals to give him some ammunition before he approached anyone in authority.

Giving up on his paperwork, Jack impulsively went up to the DNA lab on the sixth floor. In contrast to most of the rest of the building, this lab was a state-of-the-art facility. It had been renovated recently and outfitted with the latest equipment. Even the white lab coats worn by the personnel seemed crisper and whiter than in any of the other labs.

Jack sought out the director, Ted Lynch, who was on his way to lunch.

“Did you get those probes from Agnes?” Jack asked.

“Yup,” Ted said. “They’re in my office.”

“I guess that means there’re no results yet,” Jack said.

Ted laughed. “What are you talking about?” he questioned. “We haven’t even gotten the cultures yet. Besides, I think you might be underestimating what the process is going to be. We don’t just throw the probes into a soup of bacteria. We have to isolate the nuclear protein, then run it through the PCR in order to have enough substrate. Otherwise we wouldn’t see the fluorescence even if the probe reacted. It’s going to take some time.”

Sufficiently chastised, Jack returned to his office to stare at the wall behind his desk. Although it was lunchtime, he wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

Jack decided to call the city epidemiologist. Jack was interested in the man’s reaction to this case of influenza; he thought he could give the epidemiologist a chance to redeem himself.

Jack got the number from the city directory and placed the call. A secretary answered. Jack asked to speak with Dr. Abelard.

“Who should I say is calling?” the secretary asked.

“Dr. Stapleton,” Jack said, resisting the temptation to be humorously sarcastic. Knowing Abelard’s sensitive ego, Jack would have liked to have said he was the mayor or the Secretary of Health.

Jack twisted a paper clip mindlessly as he waited. When the phone was picked up again, he was surprised it was again the secretary.

“Excuse me,” she said. “But Dr. Abelard told me to tell you that he does not wish to speak with you.”

“Tell the good doctor that I am in awe of his maturity,” Jack said.

Jack slammed the phone down. His first impression had been correct: the man was an ass. Anger now mixed with his anxiety, which made his current inaction that much more difficult to bear. He was like a caged lion. He had to do something. What he wanted to do was go to the General despite Bingham’s admonitions. Yet if he went over there whom could he talk with? Jack made a mental checklist of the people he knew at the hospital. Suddenly he thought of Kathy McBane. She’d been both friendly and open, and she was on the Infection Control Committee.

Jack snatched up the phone again and called the Manhattan General. Kathy was not in her office, so he had her paged. She picked up the page from the cafeteria. Jack could hear the usual babble of voices and clink of tableware in the background. He introduced himself and apologized for interrupting her lunch.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kathy said agreeably. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you remember me?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Kathy said. “How could I forget after the reaction you got out of Mr. Kelley and Dr. Zimmerman?”

“They are not the only people I seem to have offended in your hospital,” Jack admitted.

“Everybody has been on edge since these infectious cases,” Kathy said. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“Listen,” Jack said. “I’m concerned about the same cases, and I’d love to come over and talk to you directly. Would you mind? But it will have to be just between the two of us. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, not at all,” Kathy said. “When did you have in mind? I’m afraid I have meetings scheduled for most of the afternoon.”

“How about right now?” Jack said. “I’ll pass up lunch.”

“Now that’s dedication,” Kathy said. “How can I refuse? My office is in administration on the first floor.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack voiced. “Is there a chance I’d run into Mr. Kelley?”

“The chances are slim,” Kathy said. “There’s a group of bigwigs in from AmeriCare, and Mr. Kelley is scheduled to be locked up with them all day.”

“I’m on my way,” Jack said.

Jack exited from the front entrance on First Avenue. He was vaguely aware of Slam straightening up from where he was leaning against a neighboring building, but Jack was too preoccupied to take much notice. He flagged a cab and climbed in. Behind him he saw Slam following suit.

• • •

BJ had not been entirely confident he’d recognize Jack from the visit to the doc’s apartment, but the moment Jack appeared at the door of the medical examiner’s office, BJ knew it was him.

While he’d been waiting BJ had tried to figure out who was supposedly protecting Jack. For a while a tall muscular dude had loitered on the corner of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street, smoking, and intermittently looking up at the medical examiner building’s door. BJ had thought he was the one, but eventually he’d left. So BJ had been surprised when he’d seen Slam stiffen in response to Jack’s appearance.

“He’s no more than a goddamn kid,” BJ had whispered to himself. He was disgusted. He expected a more formidable opponent.

No sooner had BJ gotten his hand around the butt of his machine pistol, which he had in a shoulder holster under his hooded sweatshirt, than he saw first Jack and then Slam jump into separate cabs. Letting go of his gun, BJ stepped out into the street and flagged his own taxi.

“Just head north,” BJ told the cabdriver. “But push it, man.”

The Pakistani cabdriver gave BJ a questioning look, but then did as he was told. BJ kept Slam’s cab in sight, aided by the fact that it had a broken taillight.

Jack jumped out of the cab and dashed into the General and across the lobby. The masks had been dispensed with now that the meningococcal scare had passed, so Jack couldn’t use one to hide behind. Concerned about being recognized, he wanted to spend the least time possible in the hospital’s public places.

He pushed through the doors into the administrative area, hoping that Kathy had been right about Kelley’s being occupied. The sounds of the hospital died away as the doors closed behind him. He was in a carpeted hall. Happily, he saw no one he recognized.

Jack approached the first secretary he came upon and asked for Kathy McBane’s office. He was directed to the third door on the right. Losing no time, Jack hustled down there and stepped in.

“Hello,” Jack called out as he closed the door behind him. “I hope you don’t mind my shutting us in like this. I know it’s presumptuous, but as I explained there are a few people I don’t want to see.”