Part 43 (1/2)
He leaned against a pipe for support.
Sal looked down at his pants, which were soaked with poisoned beer, and he became pale. ”I have to change my clothes.”
”Good idea,” Ethel said. ”Now move! We have a lot to do.”
Smythe woke up abruptly.
”Protein folding!” he yelled.
Then he opened his eyes and realized he was alone in his room.
He fumbled in the dark for the light switch and turned it on. He was lying on his bed in one of the guest rooms in headquarters. He had been dreaming but couldn't recall many details. He vaguely remembered sheets of sticky black cloth, which had spread across the sky until they turned day into night.
He remembered something else extremely important.
He got out of bed, pulled on a bathrobe, and ran directly to the laboratory. Ramirez was already there. He was looking through a high-power microscope at a slide.
”I'm glad I caught you,” Smythe said. ”You can help me. Do we still have some of those food samples from the carnival?”
”Slow down, sir,” Ramirez said. ”You look like you're about to have a heart attack.”
”I'm just very excited.” Smythe opened the refrigerator. As he had hoped, there was still a hot dog and a slice of pizza left. They were sealed in air-tight, plastic bags, just as he had left them. ”Good! I want to perform protein separation using two-dimensional gel electroph.o.r.esis. Do we have all the chemicals for that?”
”I think so. Why?”
”The poison is a protein.”
”How do you know that, sir?”
”It came to me in a dream, or maybe my subconscious was a.n.a.lyzing the formula while I was asleep.” Smythe shrugged. ”Have you ever heard of a prion?”
”Like CreutzfeldtaJakob disease?” Ramirez said.
”Exactly! A mutant protein that replicates itself almost like a virus. The human body has no defense. It's extremely hard to detect and almost always fatal. But I believe we can isolate the protein in this case.”
”We don't have to.” Grinning, Ramirez picked up a beaker full of black liquid. ”I already have a pure sample.”
Smythe approached with wide open eyes. ”How?”
”The team went up to the Mooseland brewery early this morning, and they sent back a dispenser full of this stuff.”
Smythe took the beaker and swirled it around. The liquid was as gooey as hot tar.
”This is wonderful!” He grinned wide enough to make his cheeks hurt.
”And your dream was right,” Ramirez said. ”I performed ma.s.s spectrometry, and the sample is ninety-five percent protein. I was just starting to measure its physical properties.”
”I'll help you.”
”Maybe you should get some breakfast first, sir. You still look anemic.”
”Breakfast?” Smythe raised his eyebrows. ”What time is it?”
”9:30. You slept for a long time. How are you feeling?”
”Good. I'm ready to work.”
”You seem very happy,” Ramirez said.
”I feel... at peace.”
”Let me guess. For the first time ever, you're exactly where you want to be, with people you want to be with.”
”Yes. That's it.”
Ramirez nodded. ”We all have the same experience when we join. Welcome to the Society.”
”Thank you.” Smythe smiled. ”I think I will eat after all. It's hard to think when you're hungry. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Then I'm going to work my a.s.s off until we find a cure. It's time I started pulling my weight around here.”
Aaron rubbed his eyes. He, along with Sal and Marina, had been studying security camera videos for hours. It seemed every frame was poorly lit and out of focus. Distinguis.h.i.+ng the faces of the many factory workers was difficult or impossible.
Aaron sighed. ”What's the point of having cameras when they never take a decent picture?”
”Not my department,” Sal said. ”Are we done, yet?”
”No.”
They were sitting in the small, windowless security office of the Mooseland brewery. Gitelman had ordered the security guards to leave the room, so Sal was operating the video equipment, while Aaron and Marina looked over his shoulder.
Sal pushed in a fresh tape and pressed ”play.” Aaron forced himself to focus on the indistinct image on the monitor.
After a few minutes he said. ”There! Stop!”
Sal stopped the playback.
”Those are the guys.” Aaron used his finger to draw a circle around two men.
”How do you know?” Sal asked.
”They walk like soldiers. They're almost marching in formation. Do you know them?”
”No, but I don't work that s.h.i.+ft.”
Aaron leaned in for a closer look. The two men were young and lacked beer bellies, distinguis.h.i.+ng them from the regular workers. They had very short hair. One man carried a large, black satchel. The other carried a tool box.