CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Harrison leafed through the procedure manual, making notes methodically. Yng sat in a stressless leather chair in the corner, fingers of both hands forming a pyramid before his face, his long, lank black hair falling over his eyes and glasses. Bernard stood before the black formica-topped desk, impressed by the quality of the silence. Harrison leaned back from the desk and held up his notepad.
“First, we’re not responsible. That’s how I read it. Ulam did his research without our authorization—”
“But we didn’t fire him when we learned of it,” Yng countered. “That’s going to be a bad point in court.”
“We’ll worry about all that later,” Harrison said sharply. “What we
“None of us, not one of us, thought Ulam’s cells could be viable outside the body,” Yng said, twisting his hand into a jumble of fingers.
“It’s very possible they weren’t, at first,” Bernard said drawn into the discussion despite himself. “It’s obvious there’s been a lot of development since the original lymphocytes. Self-directed development.”
“I still refuse to believe Ulam created intelligent cells,” Harrison said. “Our own research in the cube has shown how difficult that would be. How did he determine their intelligence? How did he train them? No— something—”
Yng laughed. “Ulam’s body was being transformed, redesigned…how can we doubt there was an intelligence behind the transformation?”
“Gentlemen,” Bernard said softly. “That’s all academic. Are we, or are we not going to alert Atlanta and Bethesda?”
“What in hell do we tell them?”
“That we are all in the early stages of a very dangerous infection,” Bernard said, “generated in our laboratories by a researcher, now dead—”
“Murdered,” Yng said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“And spreading at an alarming rate.”
“Yes,” Yng said, “but what can the CDC do about it? The contamination has spread, perhaps across the continent by now.”
“No,” Harrison said, “not quite that far. Vergil hasn’t made contact with that many people. It could still be confined to Southern California.”
“He made contact with us,” Yng said ruefully. “It is your opinion we are contaminated?”
“Yes,” Bernard said.
“Is there anything we can do, personally?”
He pretended to consider, then shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, there’s work to do before we announce.” He left the conference room and walked down the outside corridor to the stairs. Near the front of the west wing was a pay phone. Removing his credit card from his wallet, he inserted it into the slot and punched in the number of his Los Angeles office.
“This is Bernard,” he said. “I’m going to take my I’m to the San Diego airport shortly. Is George available?” The receptionist made several calls and placed George Dilman, his mechanic and sometimes-pilot, on the other end of the line. “George, sorry for such short notice, but it’s something of an emergency. The jet should be ready in an hour and a half, fully fueled.”
“Where this time?” Dilman asked, used to long flights on short notice.
“Europe. I’ll let you know precisely in about half an hour, so you can file a flight plan.”
“Not your usual, Doctor.”
“Hour and a half, George.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“I’m flying alone.”
“Doctor, I’d rather—”
“Alone, George.”
George sighed reluctantly. “All right”
He held down the receiver switch and then punched in a twenty-seven-digit number, beginning with his satellite code and ending with a secret scramble string. A woman answered in German.
“
She asked no questions. Whoever could get through on this line, the doctor would speak to. Paulsen-Fuchs answered several minutes later. Bernard glanced around uneasily, realizing he was taking some risk being observed in the open.
“Paul, this is Michael Bernard. I have a rather extreme favor to ask of you.”
“Herr Doktor Bernard, always welcome, always welcome! What can I do for you?”
“Do you have a total isolation lab at the Wiesbaden facility you can clear within the day?”
“For what purpose? Excuse me, Michael, is it not a good time to ask?”
“No, not really.”
“If there is a grave emergency, well, yes, I suppose.”
“Good. I’ll need that lab, and I’ll need to use B.K. Pharmek’s private strip. When I leave my plane, I must be placed in an isolation suit and a sealed biologicals transport truck immediately. Then my aircraft will be destroyed on the runway and the entire area sprayed with disinfectant foam. I will be your guest…if you can call it that… indefinitely. The lab should be equipped so that I can live there and do my work. I will require a computer terminal with full services.”
“You are seldom a drunkard, Michael. And you have never been unstable, not in our time together. This sounds quite serious. Are we talking about a fire, Michael? A vat spill, perhaps?”
Bernard wondered how Paulsen-Fuchs had found out he was working with gene engineering. Or did he know? Was he just guessing? “A very extreme emergency, Herr Doktor. Can you oblige me?”
“Will all be explained?”
“Yes. And it will be to your advantage—and your nation’s advantage—to know ahead of time.”
“It does not sound trivial, Michael.”
He felt an irrational stage of anger. “Compared to this everything else is trivial, Paul.”
“Then it will be done. We can expect you—?”
“Within twenty-four hours. Thank you, Paul.”
He hung up and glanced at his watch. He doubted if anyone at Genetron understood the magnitude of what was about to happen. It was difficult for him to imagine. But one thing was clear. Within forty-eight hours of Harrison informing the CDC, the North American continent would be placed under virtual isolation—whether officials believed what was said, or not. The key words would be “plague” and “genetic engineering firm.” The action would be completely justifiable, but he doubted if it would be sufficient. Then more drastic measures would be taken.
He did not want to be on the continent when that happened, but on the other hand, he did not want to be responsible for transmitting the contagion. So he would offer himself up as a specimen, to be kept at the finest pharmaceutical research firm in Europe.
Bernard’s mind worked in such a way that he was never bothered by second guesses or extreme doubts— not in his work, at any rate. When in an emergency or tight situation, he always came up with one solution at a time—usually the correct one. The reserve solutions waited in the background of his thoughts, unconscious and unobtrusive, while he acted. So it had always been in the operating room, and so it was now. He did not regard this faculty without some chagrin. It made him seem like a bloody robot at times, self-confident beyond all reason. But it had been responsible for his success, his stature in neurophysiological research, and the respect he had been accorded by fellow professionals and public alike.
He returned to the conference room and picked up his briefcase. His limo, as always, would be waiting for him in the Genetron parking lot, the driver reading or playing chess on a pocket computer. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” Bernard said to Harrison. Yng stood facing the blank white marker board, hands clasped behind his back.
“I’ve just called CDC,” Harrison said. They’ll be getting back to us with instructions.”
The word would soon go out to every hospital in the area. How soon before they closed the airports? How efficient were they? “Let me know, then,” Bernard said. He walked out the door and wondered for a moment
