Authors: Kyle Kirkland
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania / 11:15 a.m.
Gordon stared at the small, dark woman chatting with Burnett Sellás at the laboratory entrance. No, he realized, looking more carefully at her—not dark, except for the clothes. And her hair definitely had a reddish tint, which looked kind of funny under the harsh fluorescent lights.
Burnett beckoned Gordon.
"This is Dr. Gordon Norschalk, vice-president of our company and chief scientist." Burnett gave the woman a smile. "He'll be your contact person at the company during your investigation. Gordon, this is Cecily Sunday, an independent investigator working for the Micro Unit of HHS. Now if you'll excuse me, Cecily, I've got a huge quantity of work piling up on my desk even as we speak."
The woman gave him a friendly wave, then turned to Gordon. She held out a thin, bony hand.
For a moment Gordon stared at the hand as if it were a snake. Then, embarrassed at the delay, he quickly reached out and shook it.
"
Sorry," he mumbled. "Things have been crazy around here and I'm a little frazzled."
"
That's all right." Cecily smiled, making Gordon even more uneasy. "I thought maybe you were reluctant to shake hands with a Micro person. Understandable. You never know where our hands have been. But I'm clean, so you've got no worries. I've even been irradiated recently. I hope I don't start glowing in the dark—I'm going to the theater later."
Gordon couldn
't help but give the woman a strange look as he escorted her to his office. He was pleased to be able to offer her a comfortable seat, otherwise he'd feel compelled to give up his chair to this strange woman.
"
The government appreciates your openness." Cecily stared at him. "Not many companies would have contacted our office the way you did."
Gordon realized he was squirming under her stare and tried desperately to stop.
"Vision Cell Bioceuticals prides itself on being environmentally conscious." He mentally groaned at the cliché, but it was all he could think of saying.
Cecily glanced at the screen of a small laptop computer she
'd pulled from her shoulder bag. "No hot viruses at all?"
"
Nothing," answered Gordon promptly. "There are a few labs here that use viruses, but only as vectors to transfer genes. These viruses of course are gutted and are harmless."
Cecily nodded while she kept looking at the screen. Gordon felt himself start to sweat; stealthily he mopped his brow without, he hoped, seeming to do so. He averted his gaze, staring at the shelf mounted on the wall, loaded with books. Almost every neuroscience title published in the last few years was there. Gordon Norschalk was an avid reader.
And yet here he was, fidgeting like a guilty school boy under the interrogation of a small woman he hardly knew, yet feared.
Should he tell Cecily Sunday about Jennifer, the researcher who
'd fallen sick? But her illness was just a cold—Gordon had checked it out himself, deciding to his satisfaction that there was nothing at all suspicious about it. Besides, if something malicious had gotten loose in Jennifer's lab then the technicians would be much more likely to get sick, since they were the ones on the front lines, so to speak. They did the actual work, at least in Jennifer's lab, as in most labs.
But if Micro found out about Jennifer they
'd snoop around even more, perhaps prying into Jennifer's personal life. Burnett had said very clearly that the less Micro finds out, the better. The words were spoken with a mixture of authority and pleading that Gordon found highly persuasive.
Gordon suddenly looked up and stared straight into Cecily
's eyes—she was looking right at him. He felt a rush of adrenaline, a crackle of tension.
"
Relax," said Cecily. "I'm on your side. I don't want to find anything here, nor am I even slightly interested in any of your private research data."
Gordon smiled.
"Believe me, I didn't think you're the type who would be."
"
Here's the thing," said Cecily, still looking at him. "You've been honest with us and I'd like to be honest with you. We have a problem in Medburg. You know about the two bodies, but you don't know about the latest results and they aren't exactly encouraging."
"
There hasn't been any more fatalities, has there?"
"
Not unless you count the four-legged kind."
"
Rats? Or mice?"
"
Mice." Cecily nodded, as if she'd expected Gordon to catch on quickly.
"
How many?"
"
They're being wiped out."
Gordon felt a sharp intake of breath. But then there was a sense of relief.
"So the mice are the carriers. Or something that the mice host."
"
Could be. But it's also possible that they're just innocent bystanders."
Gordon
's relief started slipping away. "But I don't think I understand. If the mice are dying first—"
"
I'm not sure it's the mice that are dying first. The two human victims may have been the start of all this, the very beginning."
"
You're suggesting that the humans got something and passed it onto the mice?"
Cecily nodded solemnly.
"That's a bit odd, isn't it?"
"
You know, everything about this whole case is odd. When I first found out about the mice I figured like you did. Hey, I thought, this means that there's some kind of bug in the mice or in one of their parasites that's killing them off. In which case, sometimes the bug may jump off the mice and onto to us. Hence the two victims in Medburg. That's serious, but not too big of a deal, probably. Once the mice are gone, the problem is gone."
Cecily rubbed her face. Then she continued,
"But that theory just doesn't add up. I'll admit something. When I got this assignment I looked on the map and found the creek, then discovered your company. And so I said, 'Aha!' You know what I mean?"
Gordon knew. He found himself squirming again. This woman, Cecily Sunday, was a person he just couldn
't figure out. She seemed to be hinting at some sort of damaging information, damaging to his company, yet she was reluctant to bring it up. As if she was trying not to accuse him. Like a nurse who keeps assuring you it won't hurt a bit, even while she's holding a needle the size of your whole arm.
"
So maybe I was biased from the start," Cecily went on. "I don't know. All I know is, it doesn't add up. You see, the thing is, all the evidence seems to point a big fat finger right at that creek."
"
What evidence?" said Gordon weakly.
"
The disease radiates away from there. It's a focal point. And I discovered a little while ago that the two victims were both seen near that creek shortly before they died. They were homeless—one more or less permanently, the other temporarily. That's what got me thinking: homeless people often use creek water. They bathe in it and they drink it. More than likely the two victims had taken a dip or a sip recently."
Gordon frowned.
"If it was the other way around, and the mice were the source—if they were getting some kind of disease or chemical agent from the creek," he said slowly, "then you would think they would be dying all up and down the creek. But they aren't, are they?"
"
Nope," said Cecily, shaking her head. "You're right. They're not. The source of the trouble seems to be one economically distressed section of Medburg—which just happens to have a significant homeless population."
"
Okay." Gordon's voice firmed up as he thought over the problem. "Maybe the homeless people caught the agent from the creek, and the mice caught it from the people, as you say. Or maybe the victims
and
the mice caught it from the creek."
"
But only the mice that lived near the victims are dying."
"
Okay, so maybe the people got infected first. Let's say this thing, the virus or whatever it is, replicated in the infected people, and the mice were contaminated with human urine, spit, or perhaps the bodies as well, if they were lying around for a while. Then they spread it around to other mice by close contact or something. I can see why you're interested in Vision Cell. Something may have gotten into the creek one day and then floated down to Medburg."
"
We know nothing for sure. Nothing's definite. What I need to do is sit down and talk it over with my partner. He's ten times smarter than I am, so what he says carries more weight."
Gordon doubted that, but he let it pass.
"If the humans were the first to be infected...."
Cecily finished his thought.
"Then we may be in a lot of trouble, if the mice spread it around and the disease gets transmitted back to humans. Both man and mouse are obviously hosts. And probably other mammals, especially rats, squirrels, and other rodents. But we haven't seen any problem in pets such as cats and dogs."
"
Domesticated animals often have a funny sort of genetics. I've been told that not very many diseases get transmitted between people and their pets."
"
Right. So let's not panic. We've only got two bodies so far. Human ones, that is."
"
All I can tell you is that our technicians are carefully trained to follow all standard laboratory procedures. And they're well paid, we don't skimp on salaries. All the techs in this company are good, careful, well-trained people. They kill all the cells in any culture before dumping them down the drain—we've got tons of chlorine, like all biological labs, and our autoclave machines are always inspected and in good working order."
Cecily rose.
"You don't mind if I look around, talk to people, gather samples?"
"
Do anything you want. I'll show you around the labs, then you can have the run of the place."
Gordon first took her to his own lab, then the others. He introduced her to the rest of the researchers
—except Jennifer, who was still at home.
Wrestling with his conscience, Gordon kept glancing at Cecily as he ushered her through the Vision Cell Bioceuticals building. Should he say anything about the gnawing suspicion that had been haunting his thoughts?
In the end, Gordon saw in his mind's eye images of Burnett, Pradeep, Jennifer, and the rest of the scientists who had devoted so much time and energy into the company. He didn't relay any of his fears to the Micro investigator, convincing himself, somehow, that those fears were all unfounded anyway.
Jenkintown, Pennsylvania / 4:05 p.m.
Cecily hung her black sweater across the chair and closed the hotel room's drapes. The sun had broken through the clouds and southeastern Pennsylvania was getting some rare April sunshine.
Someone knocked. She opened the door quickly and saw a short, dark-haired man standing outside.
"The team's all here, Rocko?" she asked.
Rocko nodded.
"Great," said Cecily. "Let's call it a night, then." She started to close the door.
"
Ma'am?"
Cecily paused.
"Rocko, what did I tell you about that?"
"
About what?"
"
About calling me ma'am."
Rocko thought it over.
"You told me not to do it, ma'am."
"
Right." Cecily looked at him. "Well, what did you want?"
"
Some of the guys want to know, uhm...."
"
How long we're going to be here?"
Rocko nodded, grateful that Cecily had read his mind, as usual.
"Beats me. That's up to the bosses at Bethesda."
Rocko nodded, but hesitated before he walked away.
"Yes?" prompted Cecily.
Rocko
's gaze went up to the ceiling.
"
Some of the guys are wondering," offered Cecily, "why we moved out of that hotel near Medburg?"
Rocko nodded, embarrassed.
"Some of the guys," continued Cecily, "liked it there, didn't they? Close to the action, so to speak."
Another embarrassed nod.
Cecily smiled. "Tell the guys that they might want to stay away from Medburg for a while. How many dead mice did we pull out of there, Rocko? Remind the guys about that as they make their entertainment plans for the evening."
Rocko shrugged. The shrug said, who cares about mice?
Cecily closed the door. For forty bucks an hour, she thought, you might expect to get people with a little more upstairs. But finding people to do the dirty work wasn't easy. Come to think of it, they didn't pay her all that much either.
And
they wouldn't even consider hiring her full-time, even if she decided to apply. Too weird, they would say. They, meaning Chet Vernolt and his cronies. As for Kraig, he'd hire her because he didn't care who she was or what she did, but Kraig didn't call the shots—at least not yet.