Black wind

addressing the crew. “As you may know, my associate Irv Fowler, who was on the ship with us, has been diagnosed with smallpox. The smallpox virus is highly contagious and it is critical that those infected be quickly isolated. I will need to know if any of you have suffered from the following symptoms since Irv, Sandy, and I left the Deep Endeavor, fever, headache, backache, severe abdominal pain, malaise, delirium, or rashes on the face, arms, or legs.”
    One by one, she examined the apprehensive crew, taking temperatures and grilling each man or woman on signs of the deadly disease. Even Dirk and Captain Burch were subject to her checkup, after which Sarah gave a noticeable sigh of relief.
    “Captain, just three of your crewmen are showing minor flu like signs of illness, which may or may not be preliminary symptoms of the virus. I request that these men remain isolated until we can complete their blood tests. Your remaining crew should avoid large public venues for at least a few more days. I would like to do a follow-up check at the end of the week, but it appears promising there has been nO outbreak among the ship’s crew.”
    “That is good news,” Burch replied with audible relief. “Seems odd to me that the virus did not spread easily through a confined ship.”
    “Patients are most infectious after the onset of rash, which typically occurs twelve to fourteen days after exposure. Irv was well off the boat and working in Anchorage when he reached that stage, so it’s possible that the virus had not spread while we were aboard. Captain, I would ensure that his stateroom on the Deep Endeavor is thoroughly sanitized, along with all linen and dining ware aboard the ship, just to be safe.”
    “I’ll see that it’s taken care of right away.”
    “It would appear that the source of the smallpox outbreak was on Yunaska,” Dirk speculated.
    “I think so,” Sarah replied. “It’s a wonder that you and Jack were not exposed when you picked us up off the island.”
    “Our protective gear may have saved us.”
    “Thank God,” she said gratefully.
    “It would seem that our mysterious friends on the fishing boat may have been dabbling with something even nastier than cyanide. Which reminds me … the favor I asked?”
    Dirk led Sarah to the Chrysler, where he popped open the large trunk lid. Inside was the porcelain bomb canister from the I-403, carefully wrapped inside a milk crate. Sarah inspected the item with a quizzical look on her face.
    “Okay, I give up. What is it?”
    Dirk briefly explained his trip to Fort Stevens and the dive on the Japanese submarine.
    Can you have your lab identify any remaining residue? I have a hunch there may be something to it.”
    Sarah stood silent a moment before speaking.
    “Yes, we can have it examined,” she said in a serious tone. “But it will cost you lunch,” she said, finally breaking into a wry smile.
    Dirk drove Sarah to the state Public Health Lab on Fircrest Campus, where they carefully transferred the fragmented bomb casing into a small working lab room. After some chiding for bringing an explosive into the building, a jovial, slightly balding research scientist named Hal agreed to examine the fragment after the conclusion of a staff meeting.
    “Looks like a long lunch is in order. Where shall we go?” Sarah asked.
    “I know a quiet spot with a nice water view,” Dirk replied with a mischievous grin.
    “Then take me away in the green machine,” she laughed, climbing into the turquoise Chrysler.
    Dirk drove the car out of the laboratory’s narrow parking lot, easing past a familiar-looking black Cadillac CTS that sat with its engine running. Exiting the campus grounds, he drove south past Seattle’s
    st ling downtown, then turned west, following a road sign to Fauntleroy. Reaching the water’s edge of Puget Sound, Dirk turned to the Fauntleroy Ferry Terminal, then steered the Chrysler up a loading ramp and onto the car deck of a waiting automobile ferry. As he parked the Chrysler amid several rows of tightly packed commuter cars Sarah reached over and squeezed his hand tightly.
    “A ferryboat snack bar Donuts and coffee?” she inquired.
    “I think we can do better than that. Let’s go upstairs and look at the view.”
    Sarah followed him up a stairwell that emptied onto the open upper deck, where they found a vacant bench facing the northern expanse of Puget Sound. A loud blast from the ferry’s horn and a gentle nudge beneath their