Vector by Robin Cook Page B

won't be necessary, " Helen said. "The address is Twenty-seven Walker Street, and there is a stamp collecting firm right next door.
    The proprietor's name is Hyman Feingold. He was a friend of my husband. They had keys for each other's shops in case of an emergency.
    I can give him a call so that he is expecting you."
    "That's perfect, " Jack said. "Meanwhile, have you spoken with your physician? "
    "I did, " Helen said. "He's sending over some antibiotics. He's also recommended I get vaccinated."
    "I think that is a good idea, " Jack said.
    After disconnecting, Jack stood up and got his bomber jacket from behind the door.
    "Aren't you going to ask my opinion about this proposed field trip? " Chet asked.
    "Nope, " Jack said. "I already know your opinion. But I'm going just the same. I can't concentrate, so I might as well do something useful.
    Besides, now you'll be able to get some work done. Hold the fort, sport! " Chet waved with an expression of irritated resignation. He thought it was crazy for Jack to go running out on a site visit, but from past experience he knew better than to try to change Jack's mind once it had been made up.
    Whistling a merry tune, Jack took the stairs down to the third floor and ducked into the microbiology lab. Anticipating his bike ride downtown, he began to feel better than he had all day.
    Agnes Finn wasn't available, so Jack spoke with the shift supervisor.
    She was more than happy to supply him with a bag of culture tubes, latex gloves, micropore masks, an isolation gown, and a hood. Jack knew that a biological isolation suit would have been safer, but he felt it wasn't necessary. It also wouldn't be immediately available, and Jack didn't want to wait. And besides, he was still convinced that in all likelihood Mr. Jason Papparis had gotten his illness at his warehouse, not at his office.
    With his supplies in hand Jack went down to the basement area and unlocked his bike. But instead of heading directly downtown, he rode over to the University Hospital. As a firm believer in the old adage "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, " he'd decided it would be wise to take some prophylactic antibiotics.
    The ride downtown was exhilarating and transpired almost without incident. Jack went south on Second Avenue, then cut west on Houston.
    He then used Broadway to get to Walker. On Broadway he had a minor run-in with the driver of a delivery van. But only a few heated words were exchanged before the van sped off.
    Jack locked his bike to a "No Parking" sign just west of the Corinthian Rug Company office. He walked to the store's front window and gazed at the rugs and hides on display. There were only a handful, and all were bleached from sunlight and covered with a fine layer of dust, suggesting they'd not been moved in years. Jack was certain they'd not come from the new shipment.
    Cupping his hands around his face, Jack peered into the office. It was sparsely furnished. There were two desks. One was functional as a desk with the usual accoutrements, the other supported a copy machine and a fax. There were several upright file cabinets. In the rear were two interior doors. Both were closed.
    Jack walked to the door. The gold stenciling glittered against the darkened interior. Jack tried the door. It was locked, as he expected.
    The stamp shop was just west of the rug shop, and Jack went there directly. The bells on the entrance door surprised him with their harsh jangle and made him realize he was tense. A customer was seated, poring over a collection of stamps in glassine envelopes.
    A man whom Jack took to be the proprietor stood behind the counter. As soon as he looked up, Jack introduced himself.
    "Ah, Dr. Stapleton, " Hyman said softly, as if the spoken word were somehow irreverent in the philatelic peacefulness. He motioned for Jack to step to the side.
    "It's a terrible tragedy what happened to Mr. Papparis, " Hyman whispered. He handed Jack a set of keys on a ring. "Do you think