she’d signed as a condition of her employment. Her excitement couldn’t be shared with anyone, not her parents, not her friends, and not her spouse, if she were to get married. Her satisfaction was all internal without external feedback.
Four hours went by quickly, but she felt fatigued nevertheless. It was time to exit the lab. The protocol for leaving first required entering an isolation chamber for a chemical shower to decontaminate the surface of the pressure suit. She pressed the airlock switch and moved into the chamber, roughly the size of steam shower. After the door closed behind her, the chamber filled with a foggy mist that surrounded her for a programmed amount of time. She stood still, watching as the cloud enveloped her, then slowly dissipate. Everything happened automatically. When it was over, she could hear the hum of exhaust motors for several seconds before the outlet door opened into another chamber where she removed the positive pressure suit and hung it on a special hanger system for further decontamination. She’d learned to dress leisurely on days when she was to work inside the lab chamber. She then removed all of her clothing, placing everything in a basket for decon. She would be wearing lab scrubs when she exited. She tried not to think about the fact that every inch of the lab was under video surveillance. One of the aspects of working in this environment was total lack of privacy. The video was recorded, and people outside were not supposed to be watching, as a courtesy, unless there was an emergency, but she knew otherwise. There she stood completely naked when the door to the next chamber opened, and she entered to shower, using disinfectant soap. At this stage of the process, there was no automation and she’d had to learn how to shower, according to prescribed rules. After showering, an air dryer went to work, similar to the final stage of most carwashes. She stood in the down draft, chilled at first until the air warmed sufficiently. Her hair took the longest, which is why she wore it short.
When finished, she stood by the exit door, leading to the dressing chamber, where fresh scrubs and booties were waiting. She had learned to pre-stage some personal clothing articles in her locker. Overall, the decontamination process took almost twenty minutes. In five more minutes she was in the outer lab wearing a white lab coat over fresh scrubs, with no makeup and slicked-back damp hair. The working environment wasn’t about appearances.
Her lab assistant and partner was Fred Cooper, who was about twice her age. Fred had a bachelor’s degree in biology, but didn’t have any ambition for graduate work. He’d been a lab technician for almost three decades. He was working at a laminar-flow bench and didn’t look up at Kelly as she exited the final chamber door. She figured he’d been watching the “security” monitor to be sure she was showering safely. After three months working together, they’d barely talked, and she was pretty sure he had a personality disorder and probably perversions. He was creepy. She just worked around him in the lab, in silence, and tried to avoid him otherwise. He’d never mentioned a family but didn’t seem to have mass-murder tendencies. Other than that, his data analysis was good, and she could depend on him to control environmental changes in the test cells. He was not permitted inside the BSL chambers.
She ignored him and left the outer lab for the cafeteria. Working in the pressure suit for hours meant breathing extremely dry purified air, leaving an incredible thirst. GHI kept abundant supplies of free refreshments available for this reason. Kelly normally drank two bottles of spring water to quench her thirst.
Dr. Charlie Ritter was sitting at one of the lunch tables, reading a report and waved when Kelly entered. He only looked up briefly then went back to reading. She grabbed two bottles from the large commercial refrigerator then walked over to Charlie’s table saying, “Hi ya Charlie, anything interesting?”
The older man, and partial owner, removed his reading glasses and looked across at her, “Hi, Kelly. Nah, it’s just a lot of OSHA jargon about some supposed lab deficiencies.”
“Anything serious?”
With a mocking grin, he responded, “These people always seem to need to justify their own existence. They don’t even understand what we do here or what precautions are taken. We’ve never had a serious accident in twenty years of operations, but when something small goes wrong, they come down on us like it would make some kind of massive safety improvement.” He tossed the pages on the table. “Four pages of gobbledygook that means shit, but I’ve now got to write our corrective actions or they’ll seek an injunction to shut us down until we comply! They don’t even recognize the importance of the work we do here … it’s all bureaucratic crap.”
She tried to be comforting, “What kind of violations are they talking about?”
“Well look here.” He turned the first page toward her. “It says that we didn’t have the CDC Laboratory Biosafety Level Criteria instructions posted on each door of the BSL Chambers. Can you believe it? We have the most stringent training and qualification program in the country for our people before they’re allowed anywhere near an actual lab. You went through it. Hell! Our examinations require that you virtually recite the CDC guidelines. These idiots think that a piece of paper taped to a door provides any protection … unbelievable.”
She took the pages and scanned them. “You know, Charlie; we had the same kind of critiques at Johns Hopkins. Nothing on here looks difficult.”
“I know, Kelly, but it’s pure nonsense to spend the time with these people going through the Institute, knowing full well that they’re gonna come back with this garbage; then waste more of our time answering stupid shit.”
She patted his hand, “I know, but it kinda comes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
Charlie Ritter was an MD, who had been one of the founders of GHI along with Drs. Jules Redinger Lorne Bridger. Charlie was as down-to-earth as anyone could be with his credentials. He, Jules and Lorne had all begun their careers at the Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) in Frederick, Maryland. After a decade of working to find cures for the worst possible diseases, mostly feared as possible biological weapons, they left together to form the Global Hemorrhagic Institute. Their plan was to develop antidotes and immunizations that could be commercialized and available to the world population. For twenty years, they had grown GHI to its present state using funds from federal grants and some minor equity partnerships. Initially, their plans had been altruistic, but had also developed with an aim toward personal wealth. There had been various inquiries over the years about acquiring the Institute, but the team of owners had resisted the temptation, as confidence grew in their work. In the past two years alone, some estimates figured the Institute value had quadrupled with the world acclaim associated with publicity over their successes in West Africa.
Charlie, as the Chief Operating Officer of the Institute, was spending most of his days with financial analysts and other “money people,” offering various strategies for cashing in on their success. Options included merger or acquisition by a major drug Institute, to leveraged investment within their group, or going public. All had certain attractions and benefits. All would make them rich. But the circumstances were spiraling upward so rapidly that he and the other two partners never seemed to have time to agree on anything. There was no hurry, since their net worth just continued to grow, but it had become incredibly tedious to Charlie, particularly. Jules was more interested in continuing to gain publicity, and Lorne had succumbed to a tragic exposure to an Ebola outbreak in Zaire just a couple days before. His demise couldn’t have resulted from a breach of protocol at GHI, it had to be caused by bad luck in the field, which was a hazard they all faced occasionally, Lorne most frequently.
Charlie’s expression hardened as he began thinking about the meeting with a large drug Institute that Jules had arranged later that afternoon. “You know, Kelly, I’m tired, I’m really tired after thirty years at this; the work just keeps piling on. I really hate to waste time with things like this, anymore.” He gestured toward the OSHA report. “I lost a good
friend in Lorne, and you lost a mentor, but this is not a fair outcome!”
She reflected back on her first days at the GHI, when Lorne made a special point of managing her training. She’d been recommended by a professor at Johns Hopkins then vetted by the three partners, but Lorne had been special. Her mind drifted momentarily until Charlie asked, “When will John be back from his family emergency? I hope he’s not planning to be gone long.”
“Charlie, honestly, he hasn’t communicated with me since he left, and I don’t really know any more than you.”
Sleeping
It was difficult sleeping in a strange bedroom, especially one preserved for a son that the family hoped would return some day. The house was warm enough, but the night rain spattering on the window seemed to chill the air. John didn’t feel comfortable in the bed. The walls were covered with mementos of a boy’s youth, and the closet still had his clothes. He didn’t dare touch anything for fear that his hosts would go berserk. He was having second