Whiteout - Ken Follett [87]
Nigel put the bottle in the cabinet. It misted over with condensation. “They told me to turn on the air extractor,” he said. “Where’s the switch?”
“Wait!” Kit said. “What are you doing? You have to tell me!”
Nigel found the switch and turned it on. “The customer wants the product in deliverable form,” he said with an air of indulgent patience. “I’m transferring the samples to the bottle here, in the cabinet, because it’s dangerous to do it anywhere else.” He took the top off the perfume bottle, then opened a sample box. Inside was a clear Pyrex vial with graduation marks printed in white on its side. Working awkwardly with his gauntleted hands, Nigel unscrewed the cap of the vial and poured the liquid into the Diablerie bottle. He recapped the vial and picked up another one.
Kit said, “The people you’re selling this to—do you know what they want it for?”
“I can guess.”
“It will kill people—hundreds, maybe thousands!”
“I know.”
The perfume spray was the perfect delivery mechanism. It was a simple means of creating an aerosol. Filled with the colorless liquid that contained the virus, it looked completely innocent, and would pass unnoticed through all security checks. A woman could take it out of her handbag in any public place and look quite innocent as she filled the air with the vapor that would be fatal to everyone who inhaled it. She would kill herself, too—as terrorists often did. She would slaughter more people than any suicide bomber. Horrified, Kit said, “You’re talking about mass murder!”
“Yes.” Nigel turned to look at Kit. His blue eyes were intimidating even through two faceplates. “And you’re in it, now, and as guilty as anyone, so shut your mouth and let me concentrate.”
Kit groaned. Nigel was right. Kit had never thought to be involved in anything more than theft. He had been horrified when Daisy blackjacked Susan. This was a thousand times worse—and there was nothing Kit could do. If he tried to stop the heist now, Nigel would probably kill him—and if things went wrong, and the virus was not delivered to the customer, Harry McGarry would have him killed for not paying his debt. He had to follow it through to the end and pick up his payment. Otherwise he was dead.
He also had to make sure Nigel handled the virus properly; otherwise he was dead anyway.
With his arms inside the biosafety cabinet, Nigel emptied the contents of all the sample vials into the perfume bottle, then replaced the spray top. Kit knew that the outside of the bottle was now undoubtedly contaminated—but someone seemed to have told Nigel this, for he put the bottle into the pass-out tank, which was full of decontamination fluid, and removed it from the other side. He wiped the bottle dry then took two Ziploc food bags from the briefcase. He put the perfume bottle into one, sealed the bag, then put the bagged bottle into the second. Finally he put the double-bagged bottle back into the briefcase and closed the lid.
“We’re done,” he said.
They left the lab, Nigel carrying the briefcase. They passed through the decontamination shower without using it—there was no time. In the suit room they climbed out of the cumbersome plastic space suits and put their shoes back on. Kit kept well away from Nigel’s suit—the gloves were sure to be contaminated with minute traces of the virus.
They moved through the normal shower, again without using it, through the changing room, and into the lobby. The four security guards were tied up and propped against the wall.
Kit checked his watch. It was thirty minutes since he had eavesdropped on Toni Gallo’s conversation with Steve. “I hope Toni isn’t here.”
“If she is, we’ll neutralize her.”
“She’s an ex-cop—she won’t be as easy to deal with as these guards. And she might recognize me, even in this disguise.”
He pressed the green button that opened the door. He and Nigel ran down the corridor and into the Great Hall. To Kit’s monumental relief, it was empty: Toni Gallo had not yet arrived. We made it, he thought. But she could get here at any second.