While the women were happily talking books, Jack motioned Warren to follow him down the lawn and out onto the dock. Skirting the overturned canoe, they sat in matching Adirondack chairs. It couldn’t have been more comfortable with a warm sun beating down, a slight breeze, and the temperature near perfect.
“I noticed that when Jada asked about swimming in the lake you didn’t say much,” Jack said. “Are you a swimmer?”
“Hardly,” Warren admitted. “I learned in my twenties, and after a lot of effort at least I won’t drown if I happen to fall into a pool, but I’m not that big on it.”
“I understand,” Jack said. “Did you bring a bathing suit with you on this trip?”
“Jada insisted. So, yes I brought one.”
“Good,” Jack said. “Have you ever been in a canoe?”
“Never.”
“I’ll be happy to take you for a paddle while you are here if you are interested.”
“I suppose,” Warren said. He was again staring out across the lake.
“I’m getting the message you are not all that interested in canoeing. Are you back to wondering about those militia guys?”
“Right on,” Warren admitted. “Did the microbiology technician say anything at all about being a militiaman?”
“He did,” Jack said. “He told me it’d been his major hobby since he’d been a teenager.”
“Okay, that makes a certain amount of sense,” Warren said, “especially considering the recognized stupidity of teenagers the world over.”
“You’re right,” Jack agreed. With that thought in mind, he found himself, like Warren, staring across at the Bennet Estate. The only problem was that thinking about the four men from the Netherlands reawakened the original question: What the hell could have attracted them to Essex Falls, hardly a militia mecca and a long way away from Amsterdam.
Chapter 18
Thursday, July 24, 3:48p.m.
Bennet Estate
Hamilton County, New York
Alexei was back to feeling annoyed and taken advantage of. He alone was out in the barn toiling away while the others were up in the house playing cards or reading or just loafing around to pass the time. Earlier even Alexei had been enjoying himself to an extent. He and Dmitry had been down in the basement game room fully engrossed in a hard-fought Ping-Pong playoff by ultimately winning six games out of ten. Conveniently enough, they were remarkably closely matched in terms of Ping-Pong ability, which made playing particularly entertaining, especially since both were equally competitive. At that point in the match they had each won five games and were about to start the deciding game.
But Viktor had put an abrupt end to their Ping-Pong “world series” when he’d suddenly appeared and demanded that Alexei drop everything and immediately head out to the barn to check the theta prion level in the fermenter.
“But it’s only been twenty-four hours!” Alexei had complained. “There’s not a chance in heaven or hell that there would be adequate production after only twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t care,” Viktor had said. “I want to know how the batch is doing right now. So, get your butt out there and check it out or there’ll be hell to pay.”
For several seconds Alexei had had to forcibly restrain himself from throwing a fit. He’d even looked down at the Ping-Pong paddle he had in his hand and had to actively suppress himself from throwing it at Viktor.
But Alexei didn’t do anything except put down the paddle, roll his eyes for Dmitry’s benefit, and dutifully head out to the barn, where he’d remained for the last several hours.
What he’d been able to accomplish so far was get an aliquot out of the fermenter while maintaining the carbon dioxide, oxygen, pH, and temperature levels with precision. He’d then subjected the sample to a run in the sonification chamber Dmitry had cleverly devised since they hadn’t been able to order one within an appropriate time frame. This was to break apart the contained yeast cells. Then he’d used the centrifuge they had been able to get in Albany to separate out the theta prion that the yeast had been dutifully fabricating since he knew its molecular weight.
He was now about ready to add the colorimetric analyzer, which would give a reasonable approximation of the theta prion concentration. Before he began working, he’d donned an impermeable protective gown, a face shield, and latex surgical gloves. The last thing he wanted to do was contaminate himself, knowing full well if he did, he’d soon suffer cognitive decline leading to dementia. He also knew full well the unbelievable stability of prions in general, which were resistant to all the things that viruses, bacteria, andfungi were sensitive to, including all the usual antiseptics and sterilization techniques. Prions were almost indestructible, which was one of the primary reasons they were the perfect bioweapon.
Positioning himself under adequate light with the centrifuge vial in one hand and the pipetted amount of dye in the other, plus a colorimetric chart front and center on the improvised bench top, he was just about to mix the two when the barn door slammed open, shattering the sustained silence and causing him to literally jump. Almost simultaneous with the sudden racket, Dmitry loudly yelled Alexei’s name.
Literally counting to ten silently with Dmitry again insistently calling out his name, he ignored his co-worker while he carefully emptied the pipette back into the dye container.
“Alexei, I’m talking to you!” Dmitry snapped, coming up behind him, obviously irritated he was being ignored.
After putting the cap on the dye container and slipping the vial back into the centrifuge, Alexei finally turned to the insistent Dmitry. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m busy!” he snapped back. “I think that’s obvious.”
