Lethal Dose by Jeff Buick

pretty sure they’re not Marburg, either.”
    â€œThen if the virus isn’t Ebola or Marburg, it isn’t a filovirus,” Jacoby said hopefully.
    â€œI can’t say for sure that it is or it isn’t,” she said. “But we’ll know soon enough. Can you find out for me if the victim has been in Africa recently?”
    â€œOf course. I’ll call her husband.” He started to stand up, but the ME put her hand on his arm.
    â€œUse your cell phone, Detective, because neither you nor I are going anywhere until we find out if we’ve been infected.”
    Jacoby slowly sat down. “How does that happen?” he asked after a few seconds.
    â€œAn hour from now, this place is going to look like something from one of those plague movies. Everyone in protective suits, washing every square millimeter of this place down with the strongest industrial cleaners on the market. They’ll bring the necessary equipment with them to run an immunohistochemical procedure once they’ve fixed a skin biopsy with formalin. It’s a pretty definitive test. And if whatever killed her turns out to be a filovirus, we’ve got a real problem.”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œThis facility is rated Biosafety Level Two. Somehow they’ll have to get her body to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases in Fort Detrick, Maryland. It’s the only Biosafety Level Four facility in the country.”
    â€œHoly shit,” Jacoby said. “What about us?”
    The ME looked grim. “That’s a good question, Detective. A very good question indeed.”

15
    BioTech Five was a three-level maze, filled with lab rats in white coats scurrying from office to office, notes in hand. It took Jennifer Pearce almost fifteen minutes to find her assigned lab. Everything looked similar: banks of windows, long desks covered with beakers, and small offices, most stuffed with paper overflowing from desks, bookshelves, and filing cabinets. When she finally found her space, she was greeted in a reception area by a woman in her mid- to late twenties.
    â€œAre you Dr. Pearce?” she asked, her voice encumbered with a touch of accent.
    â€œYes,” she replied, trying to place the accent. “And you are?”
    â€œKenga. Kenga Bakcsi. I’m the executive administrator for your group.” She stood and held out a hand.“Welcome toVeritas.”
    â€œThanks,” Jennifer said, shaking the woman’s hand. She noticed the manicured nails and tasteful bracelet. “Your accent is different. Australian?”
    Kenga shook her head. “Not even close. Transylvanian.”
    Jennifer did a double take on the woman. She was average height with off-blond hair, soft eyes, and cheeks angling down to a chin just a shade too small for her face. She was an attractive young woman with a warm smile and an almost shy demeanor.“You’re kidding,” Jennifer said.“Transylvania. I’ve never met anyone from Transylvania.”
    â€œYeah, home of Count Dracula and his friends. Lots of them about. Vampires, of course.” Her eyes turned mischievous. “Actually, Transylvania is part of Romania now, so you don’t hear it referred to by its original name too often. But enough of that. Your staff is waiting to meet you.”
    Kenga led Jennifer down a short hall, bare of any pictures or plaques. Jennifer smoothed her light green pantsuit with her hands and ran her fingers through her hair as she walked. She didn’t mind meeting new people or even speaking in public, but she knew there would be some tension in the room. Twenty-some people all waiting to meet their new boss. For all they knew, she could be Ms. Ogre with a pocket full of pink slips. They reached the end of the hall and entered a casual boardroom. A long table with enough chairs for all the staff centered the room, while a collection of whiteboards covered the