At three-thirty the city traffic was starting to coagulate as it always did as rush hour approached. It took Yuri more time than he expected to drive down Broadway, especially in and around Canal Street. Fighting to maintain his patience, Yuri finally was able to turn onto the relatively quiet Walker Street.

As he approached the Corinthian Rug Company office he fully expected to see it shut up tight as it had been earlier. He was prepared to accept the situation as further corroboration that Jason Papparis had been infected and was either dead or at death’s door. The question in Yuri’s mind was whether he should risk inquiring again in the stamp store. But to Yuri’s surprise and consternation the front door of the rug company office was wide open and the lights were on!

Dismayed, Yuri put on the brakes and slowed his cab to give himself a glimpse inside the shop as he glided by. What he saw was Jason Papparis standing in front of one of his file cabinets!

“O Godspodi!” Yuri mumbled despite his atheistic beliefs. He pulled into a loading zone. Twisting around in his seat he looked back at the open door of the rug store office. What could have gone wrong? The powder had to be effective. He’d used all the tricks that he and his team had devised at Vector. In the ten-plus years he’d worked at the Siberian facility he and his coworkers had increased the efficacy of weaponized anthrax by a factor approaching ten. Most of the increase had come from simple additives to the powder to maximize the suspension and the diffusion of the particles in the air, although some of the increase had come from the way the cultures were grown. With his current weapon, Yuri had used all the stratagems.

Yuri ran a hand through his hair. Maybe the letter had gotten lost or delivered to the wrong person? Or maybe even someone in the post office had decided to open it out of curiosity? Yuri wondered if he should have thought of a different way of infecting Mr. Papparis. At the time he’d come up with the letter idea, it had seemed so perfect.

Yuri got out of the cab. With the taxi’s blinkers on he ran across the street, skirted a mountain bike locked to a “No Parking” sign, and passed the stamp store. As he came abreast of the window of the rug office he peered inside. Jason was nowhere to be seen. The two doors that he could see in the rear of the office were closed.

After making sure no meter maid or policeman was in sight, Yuri walked to the open door. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. Confused curiosity propelled him over the threshold. He had to talk to the rug merchant.

“Did someone call a taxi?” Yuri called. His voice was weak and uncertain.

A figure loomed up from behind the desk supporting the copy and fax machines clutching papers in his hand. To Yuri’s shock the man was wearing a surgical mask, a hood, and a gown. The image was so unexpected that Yuri stepped back out the door.