company knows. And the distributors know. They know where every bit of it goes. Of course, at the store level, it often gets mixed together with meat from other suppliers, and that could make positive identification difficult.”
“They said that it was only one line,” said Nathan Stein. “How much meat could that be?”
Dr. Roy had command of herself again. “If we are talking about a processing plant, there is no such thing as a small problem involving a single machine or production line.”
Magically, she seemed to have forgotten the tangible corpses at issue and focused again on relatively cold facts. “Let us say that a single line has reported a problem. Those on other lines may or may not have recognized it as well. They may or may not have seen fit to report what they saw or suspected. Inspectors may find some and miss others. Moreover, if one machine or one product line has E. coli, it is likely to have spread. The entire plant is suspect.”
“And that means what, Dr. Roy?” said Maloney, not bothering, or able, to suppress the slight quaver that persisted as he spoke. “Let’s say that tens of thousands-perhaps hundreds of thousands-of pounds, maybe millions, get distributed to hundreds of outlets, maybe more. That means what?”
She did not respond.
“Dr. Roy?” The others were bearing down, straining from their seats, Louise on her feet, Stein poised to spring like a feral cat, restrained only by Tom Maloney’s heavy hand. But it was Maloney who spoke again.
“Let us say, Dr. Roy, that a universe of three hundred thousand people eat this meat. If everyone among the three hundred thousand gets sick, and I realize that’s farfetched, and let’s say that half are children and elderly, about nine hundred would end up in the hospital. Am I right? Of the nine hundred, perhaps forty-five would advance to HUS. Of that group, with a death rate of 3 to 5 percent we might expect between one and a third and two and a half deaths. Since we can be fairly certain that all three hundred thousand will not become ill-if only half do-that brings the projected deaths to less than one person, doesn’t it?”
“You must understand,” she said. “If the numbers give us one death for every twelve hundred infected people, that doesn’t predict which of the twelve hundred will die. It could be the first or the last. It could be the first ten who die, then ten thousand who don’t.”
She continued, looking to Maloney as the only one with whom she had any personal link. “Based on your scenario, it is not realistic to suppose that there will be no deaths. There will be deaths. People will die. Some people will die.”
“And what’s the worst that could happen?” Maloney asked, shockingly calm again.
“Well, the worst,” she said, looking over their heads, thinking what she had just said was already in the worst class, “would be that you are not dealing with E. coli as we know it. The very worst, if that is what you are asking, would be a newer, stronger, heat-resistant E. coli. Bacteria are killed by heat. That is why steam at high temperature is employed in the slaughter of beef. If you cook beef to a hundred and sixty degrees you will kill the E. coli. Not all bacteria are killed at the same temperature. Salmonella, for instance, requires a higher temperature than E. coli. If our E. coli bacteria mutated to the point at which it could withstand higher temperatures, we could have quite a crisis. Other mutations are also possible, perhaps probable. You should be aware that this deadly strain of E. coli was first identified in 1982, and, while we have learned much about it, that is not long ago. A newer, mutated form of the bacteria may also have a highly increased level of quorum sensing.”
“What is that, ‘quorum sensing’?” asked Pitts.
“Bacteria, E. coli included, communicate with their own kind. They talk to each other. Dr. Bassler at Princeton has shown that in concentrations above a certain point, E. coli O157: H7 gang up, coordinate behavior, and act together, in community, to regulate virulence. They do this using a technique called quorum sensing. This E. coli is a formidable enemy and it can only improve. Perhaps today it will kill ten times as many as it did yesterday. Tomorrow, perhaps a hundred times. I’m sure that one day, somewhere, we will encounter such a strain-a bacteria that may perhaps kill everyone it touches. The worst possible scenario would be that today is that day and your meat company is that somewhere.”
Dr. Roy was now depleted, but she looked to Tom Maloney and said, “If I may say so, Mr. Maloney, surely there’s a scientific as well as a moral obligation to deal with such an event by notifying the public and recalling the meat as soon as possible and insuring that no more of it is distributed. Lives may be saved.”
Maloney brought the meeting to a close. On behalf of everyone at Stein, Gelb he thanked Dr. Roy for her “super” contribution. Clearly, he explained, this situation required immediate and ongoing attention.
Then he put his hand, protectively, featherlike, on her very narrow, yellow silk shoulder, and spoke almost in a whisper, not secretively, but in confidence. He would remember speaking to her this way years later, when Walter Sherman spoke in very much the same confiding way to him near the kitchen door in Billy’s Bar.
“Dr. Roy,” he said, “we will need your exceptional expertise, perhaps at a moment’s notice, for the next thirty days at least. I know you have a busy schedule. Still, I would like you to make yourself available as needed.”
“I regret to say that I do have a full schedule. Perhaps I could-”
“We would expect you to bill us as though you were in court seven days a week, until further notice. Before you leave, I will have Mr. Stein’s secretary give you a check for a month’s fee at five thousand dollars a day. Can I count on you?”
As a very young child, Ganga Roy had had the same dream several times. In it, she was reading a book her mother had told her not to read. As she turned the pages, she grew fearful, certain that something bad would leap from one of those pages and do her great harm. But so overwhelming was her curiosity that she could not stop. As she turned the pages, they began to turn themselves. She awoke from each of these dreams drenched in perspiration, trembling uncontrollably, never having known what it was that leapt at her from the pages.
Tom was smiling down at her, piteously, it seemed. If ever a man stood in need of a helping hand it was certainly he. “Very well,” she said, in what she hoped was a cool, offhand tone, “I shall make arrangements.” She started to take down her flip charts, but Tom touched her arm.
“Thank you again, everyone,” Tom said. “And before you go I’ll need your notes. Leave them here with your copies of Dr. Roy’s report. I’ll need a communications review on your computers, and this is,” he added sternly, “a ‘voice only’ matter.”
Wesley Pitts and Louise Hollingsworth left empty-handed, without further conversation, each nodding politely to Ganga Roy.
“Dr. Roy,” said Tom Maloney, Nathan Stein at his side, “I’m so happy you’ll be helping us. If I could have whatever copies of your report are in your possession… and if you could get me your notes, I’ll need them as well. And I’d like to keep those, too. ” He nodded at the easel. She handed him the reports.
He asked if she’d used a computer to prepare for this presentation. She nodded.
“At the institute or the school?”
“At home. Last night.”
“It might be best if you removed everything relating to this matter from your hard disk. Copy it to one of ours. If you need computer time we’ll give you whatever you need right here. My office will call you to make arrangements. Let’s try to keep our work in the building.”
“But of course, Mr. Maloney,” she smiled again, theatrically. They shook hands and she left.
“Tom,” said Nathan Stein when Dr. Roy was gone, “what the hell was that? What do we need from her?”
“Loyalty. Silence.”
“Are we looking at a shithouse?”
“Could be, Nathan. Yes.”
“Then why not give her some real money? If we need to buy her, let’s do it.”
Maloney shook his head. “Nathan, you make too much fucking money. You got what, forty-three, forty-four million last year?” Maloney smiled. “You’ve lost all perspective. We just gave her a check for a hundred fifty-five thousand dollars. To normal people that is real money. And it’s money she is honor-bound to earn.” Nathan looked unconvinced until Tom said, “Take my word, she belongs to us.”
New York
Elizabeth Reid had lunch delivered to Nathan Stein’s suite at twelve thirty. She ordered from Cippriani’s
