Vector

by Robin Cook

  Yuri looked at his watch. The other thing that was bothering him was that it was two o’clock in the morning and there was still no pest control truck. Curt had promised. Yuri wondered what it meant for the future of Operation Wolverine.

  Despite his anxieties, Yuri fell asleep again. When he awoke a half hour later, he knew immediately what had disturbed him. Connie was calling his name repeatedly but in a peculiar manner. She couldn’t seem to pronounce the letter “R.” She sounded drunk.

  Yuri stood up and swayed. He had to lean on the arm of the couch to steady himself before walking toward his wife’s bedroom on rubbery legs. He pushed open the door. Connie was lying on the collapsed bed. But there was something different about the way she was looking at him. Instead of the usual angry defiance, Yuri could tell that she was afraid.

  “What’s the matter?” Yuri questioned.

  “Something’s wrong,” Connie managed. She was having difficulty articulating her words.

  “What now?” Yuri asked. He pretended to be irritated.

  “I got stomach cramps,” Connie said. “And I threw up. I don’t think the ice cream agreed with me.”

  “If something made you sick it was probably the pizza,” Yuri said. “Personally, anchovies always do a number on my stomach.”

  “But it’s not my stomach that concerns me.”

  “What is it then?” Yuri questioned impatiently.

  “I can’t watch the TV,” Connie said, having particular difficulty pronouncing the letter T. “I’m seeing double. There’re two TV sets.”

  “Then turn it off,” Yuri said. “Go to sleep. It’s late.”

  “I can’t sleep,” Connie said. “I’m all jazzed up for some reason and it scares me to see double.”

  “Try covering your swollen eye,” Yuri suggested.

  Connie reached up with her hand.

  “What’s it like now?” Yuri asked.

  “It’s better,” Connie agreed. “There’s only one TV set.”

  “Call me if there are any more problems,” Yuri said. He began to back out the door.

  “There is another problem,” Connie said, slurring her words. “I’m thirsty. My throat is as dry as a bone.”

  “Well, get yourself some water,” Yuri said. He started to close the door.

  “I’m afraid to get up!” Connie called. “When I got up earlier I was dizzy and weak. I almost fell over.”

  “With all that fat it’s no wonder,” Yuri said.

  “Please, get me some water.”

  Yuri wondered if the thirst had anything to do with the toxin. He didn’t know. But he was certain the double vision did, and the difficulty in speaking. What was worrying him was the vomiting. It would be tragically ironic if she threw up most of the poison because he’d used too much. But then again, the nausea could be coming from a bolus of the toxin having been absorbed. Yuri didn’t know too much about botulism except with mice, rats, dogs, and monkeys.

  “All right, I’ll get you some water.”

  “Maybe I should go to the hospital,” Connie said without pronouncing the “H” at all.

  “What? For some stomach cramps? Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I’m scared. I feel strange.”

  “I’ll get the water,” Yuri said. He closed the door and walked into the kitchen. The whole affair was more nerve-racking than he’d anticipated. If a doctor saw her now they might make the diagnosis. While he was filling a glass under the faucet at the sink, a sudden, loud knocking reverberated against the front door. The unexpected sound made him jump from a type of fear only someone who’d been forced to live under a despotic, totalitarian government would understand. His own throat went dry. He took a quick sip of water, steadying the glass with both hands.

  Trembling, he went over to the venetian blinds to peek out to see who could be there. He’d been so focused on Connie, he’d forgotten about Curt until he saw the man’s familiar features illuminated by the exterior light. Steve was standing behind in the semi-darkness with his hands thrust into his pockets.

  At first Yuri was relieved. But as he unlocked the door, he cursed under his breath. This was the wrong time for them to be showing up.

  “We got a present for you, partner,” Curt said. He motioned over his shoulder.

  Yuri glanced into the alleyway. Behind Curt’s truck was a dark vehicle with “Wouton’s Pest Control” written in block letters on the driver’s side door.

  “Does it have a sprayer?” Yuri asked.

  “Let’s get the goddamn thing in the garage before we get into that,” Curt said.

  “Okay,” Yuri said. “I’ll be right out.” He closed the door. Running into the kitchen, he picked up the water and dashed back into Connie’s room. He extended the glass toward her. When she tried to take it, her arm flailed aimlessly, missing entirely.

  “I’m too weak,” she admitted. Her arm flopped helplessly back onto the bed. “It’s even hard for me to breathe.”

  “Never mind,” Yuri said. “I’ll hold the glass for you.” He lowered the tumbler and pressed it to her lips as she tried vainly to raise her head. She sputtered and the water dribbled down the side of her face. She coughed and her face turned red.

  “I’ll be right back to give you some more,” Yuri said. He tried to put the glass on the bedside table. Since there was no room he put it on the floor in the midst of the broken shards. Connie tried to speak in the midst of her coughing but Yuri ignored her.

  Dashing out of the room Yuri went to the kitchen to get his keys before returning to the front door. When he opened it, it was apparent Curt was none too happy.

  “Thanks for leaving us out here in the goddamn dark,” Curt snapped.

  “Sorry,” Yuri said. He pulled the door shut behind him. “Things are just coming to a head with Connie.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Curt demanded.

  “She didn’t get the toxin until late,” Yuri explained. He started toward the garage. “She’s just starting to have symptoms.”

  “But you’re sure she’s going to check out,” Curt said. He followed Yuri while Steve went around to get into the Wouton truck.

  “That’s my guess,” Yuri said. He opened the side door to the garage.

  “Wait a second!” Curt said. He grabbed Yuri’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “At this point there’s no room for guessing. Any screwup could undermine this whole operation. I’m only interested in sureties.”

  “I gave her enough stuff to kill everybody in Brooklyn,” Yuri shot back. “Is that good enough for you? Give me a break!”

  Yuri and Curt glared at each other for a moment in the dark shadows beneath the eaves of the garage.

  “I want to make sure you truly understand the need for security,” Curt spat. “This whole mess with your mystery wife has us as nervous as hell.”

  “I’m taking care of it like we agreed,” Yuri retorted.

  “I hope so,” Curt said. “The fact of the matter is, we cannot take any chances from here on out. Earlier tonight I mentioned we’d had an infiltrator in the People’s Aryan Army. Brad Cassidy. What I didn’t say was that he was working for the FBI.”

  “Oh no!” Yuri moaned. “What tipped them off?”

  “Nothing about Operation Wolverine,” Curt said. “We believe they’re concerned about our militia in general. Since none of the troops have even the slightest inkling about the big plan, we’re not directly at risk. The bureau must have picked up something from Steve’s contacting other militias on the Internet on behalf of the PAA. But the point is, we’ve got to be extremely careful. And the sooner we launch the operation the better.”

  “My feelings exactly,” Yuri said.

  “Have you thought any more about switching the second fermenter to anthrax?”

  “I’m going to do it as soon as I have time,” Yuri said. “Probably tomorrow. As soon as this Connie business is over and done.”

  “Good,” Curt said. “Now let’s get this pest control truck
off the street before someone sees the damn thing. I’m sure your neighbors would begin to wonder what kind of pests we’re dealing with in the middle of the night.”

  Yuri snapped on the light before entering the garage. He skirted around the back of his taxicab. As soon as he had the rollaway door up, Steve pulled the Wouton pickup inside. Yuri closed the door behind him and locked it.

  Curt stepped around to the back of the vehicle. He unhooked the edge of the tarp and folded it back to reveal the apparatus sitting in the truck’s bed. “Do you recognize this thing?” he asked Yuri.

  “Not specifically,” Yuri admitted. “But those orange things look like spray nozzles.”

  “Bingo!” Curt said. He reached over and gave the piece of machinery a pat. “It’s a Power Row Crop Duster. Whatever powder you’re using goes into this hopper.” Curt pointed out the component just as the Wouton driver had done that summer.

  “So the agent doesn’t have to be mixed with fluid?” Yuri questioned. His face had lit up like a young boy with a Christmas bike.

  “Nope,” Curt responded. “Powder in and powder out, and I’ll tell you, it’s one wicked little engine. We were told the fan in there is capable of putting out a thousand cubic feet of air a minute. The amount of powder you want in that thousand cubic feet can be varied by the dial on the metering device.”

  “It’s perfect,” Yuri said. He was impressed. It was better than he’d hoped.

  “I’m glad you approve,” Curt said. “I don’t mind telling you it took a bit of work and a lot of aggravation getting this thing. Now it’s up to you to come through with your end of the bargain.”

  “I’m working on it,” Yuri promised. “Have no fear!”

  “I hope so,” Curt said.

  They shook hands before stepping back out into the night. The two Americans climbed into their truck. Yuri stood by the side of the road.

  “Let’s talk again tomorrow,” Curt said. “We’ll be interested in how the rest of the evening goes as far as your wife is concerned.”

  “Okay,” Yuri said. He waved as Curt started his engine and drove off.

  Yuri stood for a moment watching the Dodge Ram’s tail-lights until they disappeared where Oceanview Lane butted into Oceanview Avenue. He was still tired, but he felt better than he had all day. Uncertainties that had been plaguing him earlier had vanished. He knew in his gut that Operation Wolverine was imminently to come to pass as planned. He even allowed himself a half smile as he realized that soon he would stand in the company of other great Soviet patriots, even some of the greatest from the Great Patriotic War.

  A gust of wind rustled dead leaves in the alley and caused Yuri’s torn screen door to bang repeatedly against its jamb. The noise yanked Yuri back to the present reality. There was still work to be done before the great event, and the immediate concern was Connie.

  Hurrying back inside, Yuri went to his wife’s door. He paused for a moment to listen. All he could hear was the TV. Slowly he opened the door, unsure of what he’d see.

  Connie had not moved, but her color had changed drastically. Her skin had taken on a dark mauve tint, particularly her lips.

  Yuri advanced to the bed.

  “Connie?” Yuri called. He jiggled her shoulder. She didn’t move. He picked up her arm. It was flaccid. He let it fall back to the bed. Leaning down, he put his ear next to her mouth. It was only in that way that he could tell she was breathing, although just barely. He grasped her wrist. He could feel a pulse, but it was rapid and weak.

  He straightened up. He wondered if it was time to call emergency or if he should wait a little longer. It was a hard decision, because he didn’t want her waking up when she was given oxygen in the emergency room. If that happened she might be able to tell the doctors and nurses the progression of her symptoms. At the same time, Yuri felt it would be best if she was still alive when she got to the hospital. He reasoned there would be fewer questions about why she hadn’t been brought in sooner.

  Yuri turned on the bedside light before pulling open her right eye. Her pupil was widely dilated and fixed. As far as he was concerned, that meant it was time to call emergency.

  Returning to the kitchen, Yuri used the wall phone. He tried to sound as distraught as possible, claiming he’d found his wife passed out and hardly breathing. He described her color as dusky and said that she’d been wheezing earlier in the evening. He gave the address and was told an ambulance would be there as soon as possible.

  Returning to the bedroom, Yuri looked down at his wife. It was then he started to worry about the swollen left eye. He didn’t want anyone to suspect domestic abuse, since it might lead to suspicions of foul play. He reasoned that he could say that she’d fallen, but he was worried it would be unconvincing, since she was lying in bed. Glancing through the open bathroom door gave him an idea.

  Going around to the opposite side of the bed, Yuri tried to get Connie into a sitting position. Unfortunately her sheer bulk and weight made it extremely difficult, especially since her body was completely limp. Instead he rolled her slightly onto her left side facing away from him and got his arms under her armpits. Putting one foot on the edge of the mattress, he succeeded in slowly dragging her toward him. But then disaster struck.

  Just when Yuri had managed to get Connie’s torso clear of the bed, the throw rug he was standing on slid out from under him. Yuri fell onto his back and Connie rolled over on top of him, knocking the wind out of him so that he was unable to breathe.

  For almost a minute, Yuri struggled for air. Under Connie’s weight, he couldn’t inhale. The room began to blur; he was afraid he might pass out.

  In a final, desperate movement, Yuri was able to twist to the side enough to let him get at least enough air to keep from asphyxiating. Then it became a matter of disengaging himself from Connie’s flaccid, spread-eagle embrace.

  Finally, after great effort, Yuri squeezed free from Connie’s near mortal clasp. He struggled to his feet gasping for breath. He was tempted to flee but found himself rooted in place while staring down at his wife’s now prone figure. He shuddered with a wave of unearthly fear. In her half-dead state, Connie had nearly exacted her revenge.

  The distant sound of an approaching siren shocked Yuri into action. He had to do something. Explaining how his battered wife had ended up prone alongside a collapsed bed might be difficult. It would have been better to have left her in the bed where she’d been originally, but getting her back was an impossibility.

  Knowing he had little time, Yuri squatted down. Pulling Connie’s arms he managed to twist her around so that her head was pointing toward the bathroom. Then, after rolling her over onto her back, he again seized her by the armpits and dragged her into the bathroom. His idea was to make it look as if she’d collapsed in there, hitting her eye on any one of a number of likely fixtures.

  As the sound of the ambulance got progressively louder, Yuri checked himself and Connie for any last-minute problems. All seemed to be in order. Then he rushed back into the bedroom, where he hastily straightened the sheets that had been dragged with Connie when he’d pulled her onto the floor.

  Vigorous pounding on the front door sent Yuri running. Two uniformed EMTs burst into the room as soon as Yuri pulled the door open. One was a woman, the other a man. Both were carrying equipment.

  “Where’s the patient?” the woman barked.

  Yuri pointed. “In the bathroom through that bedroom.”

  Yuri followed the technicians as they ran to the rescue. They squeezed into the bathroom and began to administer to Connie. The first thing they did was get oxygen on her face. Yuri crossed his fingers that there wasn’t going to be a miraculous resurrection.

  “She’s breathing shallowly and she’s got a heartbeat,” the woman said to the man. “But her color’s poor. We’d better bag her.”

  Yuri watched as the technicians forced oxygen into Connie’s lungs. Her chest rose perceptibly higher than when she’d been breathing on her own.

 
“No obstruction,” the man said who was compressing the breathing bag at a set interval.

  “What happened here?” the woman asked Yuri, who was standing in the doorway trying to look tormented. She worked while she talked, putting EKG leads onto Connie.

  “I don’t know,” Yuri said. “She’d been having a little trouble breathing this evening, but it wasn’t bad. Then I heard her fall in here. That’s how I found her.”

  The woman nodded. “Does she have a history of asthma?”

  “Yeah,” Yuri said. “Quite a bit.”

  “How about allergies?” the woman asked.

  “Those, too,” Yuri said.

  “Did she complain of any chest pain?”

  “No, not at all,” Yuri said.

  The woman nodded again. She ran a rhythm strip with her EKG. She showed it to her partner and commented that it was slow but regular. He nodded.

  The woman looked up at Yuri. “How much does she weigh?”

  “I don’t know,” Yuri admitted. “A lot.”

  “That I can see,” the woman said. She pulled her radio from its belt holster and called into her base. She told the dispatcher they needed assistance to carry an unconscious, obese patient who seemed to be momentarily stable. She said they’d need at least three more guys.

  It took considerable effort for the EMTs to get Connie out of the bathroom, onto a stretcher, and out into the ambulance. Yuri was generally ignored through this process, but he was allowed to ride with Connie to the hospital. She was intubated and given oxygen continuously during the ordeal.

  At the hospital, Connie was taken into the treatment area while Yuri had to spend time giving the details of Connie’s insurance. Then he was relegated to the waiting room. At one point a disheveled doctor with a ponytail came out and went over the history, particularly in regard to the asthma and allergy. Yuri said that Connie had not had much trouble with her breathing recently, at least since they’d been married. He told the doctor that his wife had described lots of hospital visits and trips to the emergency room before they’d met. In regard to specific allergies, Yuri said he wasn’t sure what she was allergic to but thought it was things like nuts, cats, dust, and pollen.