He thought about Curt’s suggestion to switch production in the Clostridium fermenter to anthrax so that both units would be producing the anthrax spores. There was a lot to be said for that idea. It was the only way he’d be able to produce enough material for both laydowns within the time frame they’d discussed. The trouble was that breaking down the fermenter was a big job and at the moment he had another worry: Connie.

Yuri went over to his hood and turned on the fan. Putting his already gloved hands into another pair of heavy rubber gloves secured to the edges of two holes in the hood’s glass front, Yuri carefully picked up the beaker containing his most recently produced botulinum toxin. He poured some of it into a small glass vial.

Yuri had been using the acid precipitation technique in concentrating and purifying his toxin. After resuspending the toxin in an aqueous buffer, he’d reprecipitated it with ammonium sulfate to form a crystalline amalgam of pure toxin combined with a stabilizing protein. This form he’d dried into a powder.

Yuri wasn’t as concerned about his safety when he worked with the botulinum toxin as he was with the anthrax powder. Although he’d been vaccinated against both agents back in the Soviet Union, he was more confident of his immunity to the toxin than he was to anthrax spores.

After sealing the small vial, Yuri washed its exterior before bringing it out from inside the hood. Then he went through the first phase of disinfecting and decontaminating himself with an overhead shower and a plastic container of bleach.

Leaving the lab, Yuri went through a second decon phase with more bleach and another shower. Only then did he slip out of his hazmat suit, turn off the compressed-air tank, and hang them up on their respective pegs. Then he carefully carried the vial up to the kitchen and hid it behind the overcounter dish cabinet.

Steeling himself against the inevitable abuse, Yuri went to Connie’s door and opened it. As usual, his wife was propped up on the bed watching the television even though the mattress and box spring were now sitting on the floor.

“What do you want?” Connie grumbled. She was holding an ice pack to her swollen left eye.

“I’m going to get some pizza,” Yuri said. “I thought maybe you might be hungry.”

Connie lifted the ice pack away from her face and regarded her husband curiously. “What’s the matter with you?” she questioned sarcastically. “You’ve never cared if I was hungry before.”

“I was feeling guilty about hitting you,” Yuri said, trying to sound sincere. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, my ass,” Connie shot back. “If you’re saying this to get your TV back, it’s not going to work.”