“Why is that?” Abraham asked, shifting around in his chair, apparently trying to find a comfortable spot.
“Bubonic plague and septicemic plague, alas, leave far too many survivors even among an untreated population. In contrast, the mortality rate of pneumonic plague approaches one hundred percent.”
“That’s excellent,” the old man murmured approvingly.
“Since last we met, I have endeavored to develop the most lethal strain of pneumonic plague known to man.”
“How quickly can it kill?” Metcalf asked eagerly.
Aboud shrugged. “It depends very much on the species we use as test subjects, you understand. Thus far, we have worked through rodents, larger mammals and finally primates. Our current estimate is that death will occur within twenty-four hours.”
“Really?” The old man’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He appeared impressed. Then he scowled as a new thought struck him. “Of course, that remarkable result can only be achieved if the victim doesn’t receive the proper antibiotic treatment.”
“Quite so,” Aboud inclined his head in agreement. “A later phase of our project will, of course, be to develop a strain of bacteria that is impervious to all known treatment.”
“Why aren’t you starting to work on that now?” Metcalf challenged.
The doctor remained unruffled by the question. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Because we have a more pressing issue before us than the antibiotic question.”
“What could be more pressing than that?” Metcalf leaned forward in his chair, fixing Aboud with a searching stare.
The doctor looked away briefly. He took another sip of coffee. Now was the critical moment. “We are approaching a delicate stage of my research. One which you may not be ready to approve of.”
“Oh?”
Aboud tapped his fingers on his armrest. It was time to broach the topic uppermost in his mind though he dreaded the consequences. “While I can guarantee the performance of the bacteria in terms of the subjects which have been infected, I’m afraid I don’t have enough data to ensure the strain will behave as you wish in the field.”
Metcalf squinted at him. “I don’t understand what you’re driving at.”
The doctor took a deep breath. “Since it is your goal to use this plague on human targets, I need to test its efficacy on...” He paused and swallowed hard. “On human subjects.”
Aboud waited stonily for the inevitable refusal. None of his earlier experiments overseas with biological weapons had ever progressed to this stage. Given the religious beliefs of his benefactor, he expected a reaction of moral outrage. The old man might become irate and terminate the project. When he hazarded a glance at Metcalf’s face, the response wasn’t at all what he’d been anticipating. The diviner hadn’t even blinked.
“Yes, I can arrange that for you,” the old man answered readily.
The doctor wasn’t sure Metcalf understood. He rushed to clarify. “Sir, I will need you to provide me with humans whom I can infect with the bacteria. They will not survive the experiment.”
“Yes, I know.” Metcalf appeared surprised at Aboud’s elaborate explanation. “How many do you need?”
“Half a dozen for now,” Aboud replied in a dazed voice.
“Very well.” The diviner heaved himself out of the chair. Obviously, he considered the meeting over.
Aboud sprang to his feet. He hastened to add, “I... I may need more at a later stage of the research.”
“Of course,” Metcalf agreed calmly. “That won’t be a problem. Send me word when you want the first six subjects delivered.” In an uncharacteristic move, he extended his hand and shook Aboud’s warmly. “I’m quite pleased with your results thus far, doctor. I look forward with great anticipation to the next phase of your research.”
Chapter 50—Fugue in the Key of M
Cassie parked her car next to the curb in front of Maddie’s home. Faye had already arrived. The old woman stood next to her station wagon, waiting for the trio, who climbed out to greet her.
“So glad to see you returned safely, my dears.” Faye hugged Erik and Griffin in turn. “Has Cassie told you the situation?”
The two men nodded tensely.
Erik looked up at the white two-story townhouse which belonged to Maddie. “Seems like everything’s quiet inside,” he observed. “Shades down. No sound of TV or radio. She has to be in there because her car’s here.”
They all glanced dubiously at Maddie’s vehicle, parked askew between the driveway and the lawn.
“Maybe she’s asleep,” Cassie suggested.
“Let us hope so,” Faye warned ominously.
The party advanced to the front door.
“Since you report to her, perhaps you should try first,” Faye proposed, nudging Erik forward.
He gave her a slightly apprehensive look. “What if she bites my head off?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened, would it?” Griffin said. “I should think you’d be used to her bad side by now.”
“There’s her bad side, and then there’s her other bad side,” Erik muttered. He cracked his knuckles and rapped on the door.
Nothing stirred inside the house.
“Maddie, it’s Erik,” the paladin called. “Let me in.”
Still no response.
Erik shook his head. “No dice. I think we need to pull out the big guns.” He looked pointedly at Faye.
As she moved forward, he ducked aside.
Tapping almost imperceptibly, the old woman said, “It’s Faye, dear. Please open the door. We’re very worried about you.”
All was silence.
Erik jiggled the handle. “It’s locked,” he reported.
“Allow me to try,” Faye said.
