Govind's reply was flippant. "This is the CDC. Careful is what we do." It didn't reassure her at all.
"Watch yourself, Govey. You've got a family to protect."
"Two hours, Sam." He hung up the phone.
Sam's chair groaned in protest as she leaned back in it. She found herself with two hours to kill and nothing to do. She hated having nothing to do. She looked around the vacant coffee shop. When in Rome. She ordered another latte and two more biscotti.
Chapter 30
February 7th, 3:47 AM PST; St. John's Lutheran Hospital; San Francisco, California.
Gene waited for the police car to pass before he signaled to Doug and Carl. Go! His teammates hustled across the street, heads ducked as if evading sniper fire. Gene trailed, hot on their heels. They crept into an alley that opened into a loading dock in the back of the hospital. Two trucks half-shielded a rusty metal door. One read St. John's Mortuary in stark white letters, the other St. John's Hospital. A quick inspection revealed no one inside.
They traded point positions in a classic leapfrog maneuver, covering one another as they approached the building. Gene moved up to the door while Carl and Doug took defensive positions behind the trucks.
He knocked twice and waited. He knocked again. Ten seconds later, the door opened a crack. A young, scruffy man in wrinkled hospital scrubs favored Gene with a wary look. He said nothing.
Gene spoke. "Don't you ever sleep?"
The man shook his head. "Only on Tuesdays."
Gene stuck out his hand. "Gene Palomini, nice to meet you."
"Ted Sanders. Same. Your crew with you?"
Gene turned around. He didn't see Doug or Carl. He smiled and waved to the alleyway. The men emerged from the shadows, weapons stowed in the duffel bags, and approached the door.
"Get inside," Ted said. "We've got everything set up." He handed them white air filters and put one on himself.
Doug swallowed and put his on. He didn't step inside. "Is there some kind of contamination?"
Ted shook his head. "Nope, but they're doing some asbestos removal one floor down, and this will make you harder to recognize if someone sees you." He walked inside. Doug hesitated, then followed.
They hurried after him, scanning for potential hostiles. Blue industrial tile covered the floors and went halfway up the walls, where it was replaced with white tiles of the same size. Fluorescent lights hung from the exposed metal girders that made up the ceiling, illuminating everything with the same sterile, lifeless glow. Wooden doors, stained with age, punctuated the hallway at regular intervals.
Sanders led the trio through several twists and turns. The subbasement looked the same everywhere, as far as Gene could tell. They followed Sanders through aluminum double doors labeled MORGUE.
Carl crinkled his nose. The morgue smelled of formaldehyde, bleach, and an underlying lemony scent that just served to make the other two that much worse. Gene and Doug had both been through enough morgues not to react.
Four people stood inside, their white lab coats labeled CDC in large blue letters on the front breast and again on the back across the shoulder blades. Three Caucasians and one Indian-looking woman, none of them younger than fifty, turned to look at the FBI agents. The woman shook her head.
"The duffel bags won't do. You must get rid of them." Her accent was Bangladeshi. Her voice was almost sultry but all command. "We will take your gear while you get ready for transport." She stepped aside, leaving a clear view of the tables behind her.
Three black body bags were lined up on three tables, each open and empty. A fourth lay sealed and bulging beside them. Stickers showing the international symbol for Biohazard covered them on every side. The team looked at one another, then at the bags, then at the Bangladeshi woman. Doug started to sweat.
The doctor clapped her hands. "We don't have time to waste, gentlemen. You may keep your underpants but your clothing must go."
They undressed. The lab-coated men came forward and helped them. They took each item of clothing, folded it, and placed it inside clear plastic bags, also labeled Biohazard. Doug trembled with every movement.
Carl grinned at him, misunderstanding. "Wait till you get your socks off. Floor's cold, man."
Doug's face turned ashen. Gene gave him a concerned look. Doug closed his eyes and shook his head. Almost to himself he said, "I'll be all right, Gene."
Gene patted him on the shoulder and finished taking off his clothes. "Excuse me, ma'am, but why are we doing this?"
One of the gentlemen stepped forward and explained. "You can't just leave town, sir. Homeland Security has everything locked up tighter than—" The Bangladeshi gave him a withering stare. "Well, awfully tight. Doctor Agrawal at CDC Atlanta has an order that he's to be shipped four bodies with a rare Southeast Asian infection, so the disease can be studied. Guess what, gentlemen? You're three of those bodies."