"The sooner the better," Jack said. "Who knows what these two might do, as crazy as that doctor seems to be."

"See you at Bobby Bo's," Everett said.

"I might be a tad late," Jack said. "I've got to go all the way back home to change before I drive over there."

"Well, get a move on," Everett said. "I want you there for the Prevention Committee meeting."

"I'll do what I can," Jack said.

Everett hung up the phone and then searched for Daryl Webster's phone number. He was in his upstairs study off his dressing room, half-dressed in his tuxedo. When Jack had called he'd been struggling with his shirt studs. Formal attire was not a common requirement in Everett 's life.

" Everett!" Gladys Sorenson called from the master bedroom. Gladys and Everett had been married for more years than Everett wished to acknowledge. "You'd better shake a leg, dear. We're due over at the Masons' in half an hour."

"I gotta make a quick call," Everett yelled back. He found the number and quickly dialed. The phone was answered on the first ring.

"Daryl, Everett Sorenson here," Everett said.

"This is a surprise," Daryl said. The two men not only had traveled similar career paths; they even resembled each other physically. Daryl was equally heavyset, with a thick neck, shovel-like hands, and a ruddy, plethoric face. The difference was that Daryl had a full head of hair and normal-sized ears. "The Mrs. and I are just about to walk out the door on our way to the Masons'."

"Gladys and I are about to do the same," Everett said. "But something's come up. You know that young, pain-in-the-ass inspector, Marsha Baldwin, who's been causing me grief?"

"Yeah, Henderson told me about her," Daryl said. "A real independent troublemaker as I understand it."

"Well, she's hooked up with that raving maniac doctor who got himself arrested last night at an Onion Ring restaurant. Did you see that in today's paper?"

"Who could miss it?" Daryl said. "It gave me a cold sweat with him carrying on about E. coli."

"You and me both," Everett said. "And now it's gotten worse. A little while ago she snuck into my plant with the doctor. Somehow he's got her to help him trace meat."

"Presumably looking for E. coli," Daryl said.

"Undoubtedly," Everett said.

"This is very scary," Daryl said.

"I couldn't agree more," Everett said. "Especially since Jack Cartwright overheard them talking about Higgins and Hancock. We're concerned they may show up at your establishment on the same crusade."

"This I don't need," Daryl said.

"We're going to be talking about a long-term solution tonight," Everett said. "Did you get the message?"

"I did," Daryl said. "Bobby Bo called me."

"In the meantime, maybe you should take some precautions," Everett said.

"Thanks for the tip," Daryl said. "I'll call my security and alert them."

"That's exactly what I would have suggested," Everett said. "See you in a little while."

Daryl disconnected. He held up a finger to indicate to his wife, Hazel, that he had one more quick call to make. Hazel, dressed to the nines, was impatiently waiting at the front door. While she tapped her toe, Daryl dialed the main number at the slaughterhouse.

Marsha turned into Kim's driveway and stopped directly behind Kim's car. She left the motor running and the headlights on.

"I appreciate what you've done," Kim said. He had his hand on the door, but he didn't open it. "I'm sorry it didn't go more smoothly."

"It could have been worse," Marsha said brightly. "And who knows what's going to happen? We'll just have to see how it plays out."

"Would you like to come in?" Kim asked. "My house is a wreck, but I could use a drink. How about you?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll take a rain check," Marsha said. "You've got me started on something I intend to finish. By the time you get the lab results on Monday, I'd like to have the meat traced as much as possible. That way we'd be that much farther ahead of the game when we try to make an argument for a recall."

"Are you planning on doing something now?"

"Yup," Marsha said, with a nod. She glanced at her watch. "I'm going to head directly out to Higgins and Hancock. This might be my only chance. As I said earlier, the district USDA manager and I have never gotten along. Come Monday, when he hears about our little escapade from Jack Cartwright, I might be out of a job. Of course, that would mean I'd lose my ID. card."

"Gosh," Kim remarked. "If you lose your job, I'm going to feel terrible. It's certainly not what I intended."

"There's no need for you to feel responsible," Marsha said. "I knew the risk I was taking. Even in retrospect, I think it was worth it. Like you said, I'm supposed to be protecting the public."

"If you're going to the slaughterhouse now, then I'm coming along," Kim said. "I'm not going to let you go alone."

"Sorry, but it's out of the question," Marsha said. "I didn't think there'd be a problem at Mercer Meats and there was. It's a different story at Higgins and Hancock. I know there'd be a problem. Heck, it might be tough for me to get in there even with my USDA card."

"How can that be?" Kim asked. "As a USDA inspector, can't you visit any meat establishment?"

"Not where I'm not assigned," Marsha said. "And especially not a slaughterhouse. They have their own full-time contingent of USDA people. You see, slaughterhouses are akin to nuclear installations as far as visitors are concerned. They don't need them, and they don't want them. All they can do is cause trouble."

"What are the slaughterhouses hiding?" Kim asked.

"Their methods, mostly," Marsha said. "It's not a pretty sight in the best of circumstances but particularly after the deregulation of the eighties, slaughterhouses have all pushed up the speed of their lines, meaning they process more animals per hour. Some of them run as much as two hundred fifty to three hundred animals an hour. At that speed contamination can't be avoided. It's inevitable. In fact, it is so inevitable that the industry sued the USDA when the agency considered officially calling meat with E. coli contaminated."

"You can't be serious," Kim said.

"Trust me," Marsha said. "It's true."

"You're saying the industry knows that E. coli is in the meat?" Kim said. "They're contending it can't be helped?"

"Exactly," Marsha said. "Not in all meat, just some of it."

"This is outrageous," Kim said. "This is something the public has to find out about. This can't continue. You've convinced me I've got to see a slaughterhouse in operation."

"Which is exactly why the slaughterhouses don't like visitors." Marsha said. "And that's why you'd never get in. Well, that's not entirely true. Slaughtering has always been a labor-intensive business, and one of their biggest headaches is a constant shortage of help. So I suppose if you got tired of being a cardiac surgeon, you could get a job. Of course, it would help if you were an illegal alien, so they could pay you less than the minimum wage."

"You're not painting a very flattering picture," Kim said.

"It's reality," Marsha said. "It's hard, undesirable work, and the industry has always relied heavily on immigrants. The difference is that today the workers come from Latin America, particularly Mexico, rather than Eastern Europe, where they came from in the past."

"This is all sounding worse and worse," Kim said. "I can't imagine that I've never given it any thought. I mean, I eat meat, so in some ways I'm responsible."

"It's the downside of capitalism," Marsha said. "I don't mean to sound like a radical socialist, but this is a particularly flaming example of profit over ethics: greed with a complete disregard for consequence. It's all part of what prompted me to join the USDA, because the USDA could change things."