Jim turned and said, "Presumed, but unconfirmed. Port Authority cops went into the passenger compartment, found it full of corpses, and got right out again."
"They were masked and gloved, I hope."
"Affirmative."
The cart turned a corner, revealing the airplane waiting in the distance. A massive aircraft, work lights trained on it from multiple angles, shining as bright as day. Mist off the nearby bay created a glowing aura around the fuselage.
"Christ," said Eph.
Jim said, "A 'triple seven,' they call it. The 777, the world's largest twin jet. Recent design, new aircraft. Why they're flipped out about the equipment going down. They think it's something more like sabotage."
The landing-gear tires alone were enormous. Eph looked up at the black hole that was the open door over the broad left wing.
Jim said, "They already tested for gas. They tested for everything man-made. They don't know what else to do but start from scratch."
Eph said, "Us being the scratch."
This dormant aircraft mysteriously full of dead people was the HAZMAT equivalent of waking up one day and finding a lump on your back. Eph's team was the biopsy lab charged with telling the Federal Aviation Administration whether or not it had cancer.
Blue-blazer-wearing TSA officials pounced on Eph as soon as the cart stopped, trying to give him the same briefing Jim had just had. Asking him questions and talking over each other like reporters.
"This has gone on too long," said Eph. "Next time something unexplained like this happens, you call us second. HAZMAT first, us second. Got it?"
"Yes, sir, Dr. Goodweather."
"Is HAZMAT ready?"
"Standing by."
Eph slowed before the CDC van. "I will say that this doesn't read like a spontaneous contagious event. Six minutes on the ground? The time element is too short."
"It has to be a deliberate act," said one of the TSA officials.
"Perhaps," said Eph. "As it stands now, in terms of whatever might be awaiting us in there-we have containment." He opened the rear door of the van for Nora. "We'll suit up and see what we've got."
A voice stopped him. "We have one of our own on this plane."
Eph turned back. "One of whose?"
"A federal air marshal. Standard on international flights involving U.S. carriers."
"Armed?" Eph said.
"That's the general idea."
"No phone call, no warning from him?"
"No nothing."
"It must have overpowered them immediately." Eph nodded, looking into these men's worried faces. "Get me his seat assignment. We'll start there."
Eph and Nora ducked inside the CDC van, closing the rear double doors, shutting out the anxiety of the tarmac behind them.
They pulled Level A HAZMAT gear down off the rack. Eph stripped down to his T-shirt and shorts, Nora to a black sports bra and lavender panties, each accommodating the other's elbows and knees inside the cramped Chevy van. Nora's hair was thick and dark and defiantly long for a field epidemiologist, and she swept it up into a tight elastic, arms working purposefully and fast. Her body was gracefully curved, her flesh the warm tone of lightly browned toast.
After Eph's separation from Kelly became permanent and she initiated divorce proceedings, Eph and Nora had a brief fling. It was just one night, followed by a very awkward and uncomfortable morning after, which dragged on for months and months...right up until their second fling, just a few weeks ago-which, while even more passionate than the first, and full of intention to avoid the pitfalls that had overwhelmed them the first time, had led again to another protracted and awkward detente.
In a way, he and Nora worked too closely: if they had anything resembling normal jobs, a traditional workplace, the result might have been different, might have been easier, more casual, but this was "love in the trenches," and with each of them giving so much to Canary, they had little left for each other, or the rest of the world. A partnership so voracious that nobody asked, "How was your day?" in the downtime-mainly because there was no downtime at all.
Such as here. Getting practically naked in front of each other in the least sexual way possible. Because donning a biosuit is the antithesis of sensuality. It is the converse of allure, it is a withdrawal into prophylaxis, into sterility.
The first layer was a white Nomex jumpsuit, emblazoned on the back with the initials CDC. It zipped from knee to chin, the collar and cuffs sealing it in snug Velcro, black jump boots lacing up to the shins.
The second layer was a disposable white suit made of papery Tyvek. Then booties pulled on over boots, and Silver Shield chemical protective gloves over nylon barriers, taped at the wrists and ankles. Then lifted on self-contained breathing apparatus gear: a SCBA harness, lightweight titanium pressure-demand tank, full-face respirator mask, and personal alert safety system (PASS) device with a firefighter's distress alarm.
Each hesitated before pulling the mask over his or her face. Nora formed a half smile and cupped Eph's cheek in her hand. She kissed him. "You okay?"
"Yup."
"You sure don't look it. How was Zack?"
"Sulky. Pissed. As he should be."
"Not your fault."
"So what? Bottom line is, this weekend with my son is gone, and I'll never get it back." He readied his mask. "You know, there came a point in my life where things came down to either my family or my job. I thought I chose family. Apparently, not enough."
There are moments like these, which usually come at the most inconvenient of times, such as a crisis, when you look at someone and realize that it will hurt you to be without them. Eph saw how unfair he had been to Nora by clinging to Kelly-not even to Kelly, but to the past, to his dead marriage, to what once was, all for Zack's sake. Nora liked Zack. And Zack liked her, that was obvious.
But now, right now, was not the time to get into this. Eph pulled on his respirator, checking his breathing tank. The outer layer consisted of a yellow-canary yellow-full encapsulation "space" suit, featuring a sealed hood, a 210-degree viewport, and attached gloves. This was the actual level A containment suit, the "contact suit," twelve layers of fabric which, once sealed, absolutely insulated the wearer from the outside atmosphere.
Nora checked his seal, and he did hers. Biohazard investigators operate on a buddy system much the same as that of scuba divers. Their suits puffed a bit from the circulated air. Sealing out pathogens meant trapping sweat and body heat, and the temperature inside their suits could rise up to thirty degrees higher than room temperature.