Invasive Procedures Read Free Page B

suit and feeling his heart rate quicken. Despite having crossed this threshold hundreds of times before, Frank still occasionally felt the sickening knot of dread in his stomach or the quickening of his pulse as he prepared to enter Biosafety Level 4. It was a natural reaction. Level 4 was possibly the most dangerous man-made environment in all the world and certainly the most dangerous here at the United States Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick, Maryland. It was here that the military housed and studied the world’s deadliest viruses, viruses like Ebola or Marburg, microscopic devils that had the tendency to turn one’s innards into black gooey messes and for which there was no known cure or treatment.
    Frank checked the air valve on his suit and took a few deep breaths of fresh oxygen.
    The breathing calmed him, and the sound of his breaths echoed in his helmet as the doors closed behind him.
    The decon room, no larger than an elevator, was the last wall of defense between Level 4 and happy-go-lucky taxpaying Americans. As the lights went out, Frank became very still. Tight beams of ultraviolet light emitted from the walls and scanned him for contaminants. He thought it a silly exercise to be scanned
before
entering Level 4 as well as after, butsuch was the military. Everything had its order and tradition, be it ass-backward or not.
    The ultraviolet light dancing around him suddenly went out, and the bright fluorescent light above him illuminated.
    A computerized female voice said, “Decontamination complete. Please enter your access code.”
    A row of numbers composed of light appeared on the wall.
    Frank extended a gloved finger and entered a complex series of digits.
    His yellow biosuit, which covered every inch of him, was made of a thick, puncture-resistant rubber that weighed heavily on his shoulders and looked about three sizes too big. A utility belt at his hip held several pouches and a holster sporting a shiny injection gun. The helmet had a single pane of Plexiglas across its front with a comlink just below Frank’s mouth. The inside of the suit smelled strongly of baby powder.
    “Welcome, Dr. Hartman,” the computerized voice said. “You are cleared for entry.”
    Frank felt and heard the rush of air as the fans behind him turned on, blowing fiercely. The entry doors opened, and Frank stepped over the threshold and into Level 4. The fans were a precautionary measure, preventing airborne pathogens from escaping Level 4 during entry. Once the doors closed behind him, the fans slowed until all was silent.
    Frank looked down the long empty corridor that stretched before him and felt the twinge of fear again, tickling at his spine. Two more breaths and all was well.
    The floor, like the ceiling and walls, was a blinding spotless white, the one exception being the large red biohazard symbol painted on it at the entrance.
    Frank waddled down the corridor. Moving in the suit, with its size and weight and rubberiness, was always awkward. Frank had made a joke once that researchers here looked like the offspring of an astronaut and a rubber duck.
    He passed through another series of doors, each with its own security access, until he came to a room lined with glass holding cells.
    The cells were four feet deep, four feet wide, and stretched floor to ceiling, like tall glass lockers. Inside each, suspended from the ceiling at eye level, was a cage. Inside each cage sat a small, bleary-eyed monkey.Frank approached the first cell and tapped the glass. At the sight of Frank, the monkey sprang to its feet and shook the cage bars violently.
    “Well, aren’t you a fireball this morning?” Frank said.
    He turned to a computer terminal mounted on the wall and entered a command.
    The monkey looked up as blue gas poured into the cell from an air vent in the ceiling.
    The gas swirled and billowed into multiple tendrils of vapor as it slowly descended toward the cage.
    The monkey, wide-eyed with