or saw something, or were going to blow the whistle on something… As my partner, Dom Fanelli, would say, 'Mama mia!' This was a whole new possibility. I looked at Stevens and tried to read something in those icy eyes, but he was a cool actor, as he'd shown on the gangplank.
Stevens was going on, 'As soon as I heard about the deaths last night, I called my security sergeant on the island and tried to determine if anything was missing from the labs-not that I would suspect the Gordons of such a thing, but the way the murder was reported to me… well, we have standard operating procedures here.'
I looked at Beth and our eyes met. I hadn't had a chance to say a word to her this morning, so I winked at her. She apparently couldn't trust her emotions so she turned away.
Stevens went on, 'I had one of my security patrol boats take me to Plum very early this morning, and I did a preliminary investigation. As far as I can determine at this point in time, there is nothing missing from any of the stored micro-organisms or any stored samples of tissue, blood, or any other organic or biological material.'
This statement was so patently self-serving and idiotic that no one even bothered to laugh. But Max did glance at me and shake his head. Messrs. Nash and Foster, however, were nodding as if they were buying Stevens' baloney. Thus encouraged, Mr. Stevens, aware that he was among fellow government-employed friends, continued to put out the line of official crap.
You can imagine how much bullshit I have to listen to in my professional life-suspects, witnesses, informants, and even my own team, like ADAs, brass, incompetent subordinates, low pols, and so forth. Bullshit and cowshit, the former being a gross and aggressive distortion of the truth, while the latter is a milder, more passive crock of crap. And that's the way it is with police work. Bullshit and cow-shit. No one's going to tell you the truth. Especially if you're trying to send them to the electric chair, or whatever they're using these days.
I listened awhile as Mr. Paul Stevens explained why no one could get a single virus or bacteria off the island, not even a case of crotch itch, if we were to believe Pinocchio Stevens.
I gripped my right ear and twisted, which is how I tune out idiots. With Stevens' voice now far away, I looked out at the beautiful blue morning. The New London ferry was inbound and passed us off our left side, which I happen to know is called the port side. The one and a half miles of water between Orient Point and Plum Island is known as Plum Gut, another nautical term. There are a lot of nautical terms out here, and they give me a headache sometimes. I mean, what's wrong with regular English?
Anyway, I know that the Gut is a place where the currents get bad because the Long Island Sound and the open Atlantic sort of smack together in the Gut. I was with the Gordons once, in their speedboat, when we got into a situation right about here with the wind, the tide, and the currents slapping the boat around. I really don't need a day like that on the water, if you know what I mean.
But today was okay, and the Gut was calm and the boat was big. There was a little rocking, but I guess that can't be helped on the water, which is basically liquid and nowhere near as reliable as blacktop.
Well, it was a nice view from out here, and while Mr. Stevens was flapping his gums, I watched a big osprey circling. These things are weird, I mean totally crazy birds. I watched this guy circling, looking for breakfast, then he spotted it, and began this insane kamikaze dive into the water, shrieking like his balls were on fire, then he hit the water, disappeared, then shot up and out like he had a rocket up his ass. In his talons was a silver fish who'd been just paddling along down there, chomping minnows or something, and whoosh, he's airborne, about to slide down the gullet of this crazy bird. I mean, the silver fish maybe has a wife, kids, and whatever, and he goes out for a little breakfast and before he can bat an eye,
We were about a quarter mile from Plum Island when a strange but familiar noise caught our attention. Then we saw it-a big white helicopter with red Coast Guard markings passed us off our starboard side. The guy was going low and slow, and leaning out the door of the helicopter was a man, secured by straps or something. The man was wearing a uniform, a radio helmet, and was carrying a rifle.
Mr. Stevens commented, 'That's the deer patrol.' He explained, 'As a purely precautionary measure, we look for deer that might swim to or from Plum Island.'
No one spoke.
Mr. Stevens thought he should expand on that, and said, 'Deer are incredibly strong swimmers, and they've been known to swim to Plum from Orient and even Gardiners Island, and Shelter Island, which is seven miles away. We discourage deer from taking up residence or even visiting Plum Island.'
'Unless,' I pointed out, 'they sign the form.'
Mr. Stevens smiled again. He liked me. He liked the Gordons, too, and look what happened to them.
Beth asked Mr. Stevens, 'Why do you discourage deer from swimming to the island?'
'Well… we have what's called a 'Never Leave' policy. That is, whatever comes on the island may never leave unless it's decontaminated. That includes us when we leave later. Big items that can't be decontaminated, such as cars, trucks, lab equipment, construction debris, garbage, and so forth never leave the island.'
Again, no one spoke.
Mr. Stevens, realizing he'd frightened the tourists, said, 'I don't mean to suggest the island is contaminated.'
'Fooled me,' I admitted.
'Well, I should explain-there are five levels of biohazard on the island, or I should say, five zones. Level One or Zone One is the ambient air, all the places outside the biocontainment laboratories, which is safe. Zone Two is the shower area between the locker rooms and the laboratories and also some low-contagion workplaces. You'll see this later. Then Level Three is the biocontainment labs where they work with infectious diseases. Level Four is deeper into the building and includes the pens where diseased animals are held, and also where the incinerators and dissection rooms are.' He looked at each of us to see if he had our attention, which he most certainly did, and continued, 'Recently, we have added a Level Five capability, which is the highest biocontainment level. There are not many Level Five facilities in the world. We added this one because some of the organisms we were receiving from places such as Africa and the Amazon jungle were more virulent than suspected.' He looked at each of us and said, sort of sotto voce, 'In other words, we were getting blood and tissue samples infected with Ebola.'
I said, 'I think we can go back now.'
Everyone smiled and tried to laugh. Ha, ha. Not funny.
Mr. Stevens continued, 'The new laboratory is a state-of-the-art containment facility, but there was a time when we had the old post-World War Two facility, and that wasn't, unfortunately, as safe. So, at that time, we adopted the 'Never Leave' policy as a precaution against spreading infection to the mainland. The policy is still officially in effect, but it's somewhat relaxed. Still, we don't like things and people traveling too freely between the island and the mainland without being decontaminated. That, of course, includes deer.'
Beth asked again, 'But
'
'Like what?' I asked. 'A bad attitude?'
Mr. Stevens smiled and replied, 'Maybe a bad cold.'
Beth asked, 'Do you kill the deer?'
'Yes.'
No one spoke for a long moment, then I asked, 'How about birds?'
Mr. Stevens nodded and replied, 'Birds could be a problem.'
I asked my follow-up question, 'And mosquitoes?'
'Oh, yes, mosquitoes could be a problem. But you must remember that all lab animals are kept indoors, and all experiments are done in negative air pressure biocontainment labs. Nothing can escape.'
Max asked, 'How do you know?'
Mr. Stevens replied, 'Because you're still alive.'
On that optimistic note, while Sylvester Maxwell contemplated being compared to a canary in a coal mine, Mr. Stevens said, 'When we disembark, please stay with me at all times.'
Hey, Paul, I wouldn't have it any other way.
CHAPTER 8
