The semicircular lobby of the Plum Island research laboratory was two stories high with a mezzanine running around the central staircase. It was a light and airy space, pleasant and welcoming. The doomed animals probably came in the back.

On the left wall were the standard government chain-of-command photos-the president, the secretary of agriculture, and Dr. Karl Zollner; a rather short chain for a government agency, I thought, leading me to believe that Dr. Zollner was maybe a heartbeat or two away from the Oval Office.

Anyway, there was a reception counter, and we had to sign in and exchange our blue clip-on passes for white passes on a plastic chain that we hung around our necks. A good security procedure, I thought-the island was divided between this building and everything else. And within this building were the Zones. I should not underestimate Mr. Stevens.

An attractive young lady with a knee-length skirt had come down the staircase before I had a chance to check out her thighs, and she introduced herself as Donna Alba, Dr. Zollner's assistant. She smiled and said, "Dr. Zollner will be with you shortly. Meanwhile, I'll show you around."

Paul Stevens said to us, "I'll take this opportunity to check in with my office and see if there are any further developments." He added, "Donna will take good care of you." He looked at me and said, "Please stay with Ms. Alba at all times."

"What if I have to go to the men's room?"

"You already did." He went up the stairs, stopping, I'm sure, at Dr. Zollner's to report on the five intruders.

I looked at Donna Alba. Mid-twenties, brunette, good face and body, blue skirt, white blouse, and running shoes. I suppose if you considered the daily boat commute and the possibility of having to travel somewhere on the island, then high heels weren't practical. In fact, I thought, if you liked a predictable commute and an average day at the office, Plum Island wasn't your kind of place.

In any case, Donna was attractive enough so that I recalled she'd been on the eight a.m. ferry with us this morning, and she was therefore not yet acquainted with Messrs. Nash and Foster and was therefore probably not on the inside of any cover-up.

Anyway, Donna asked that we all introduce ourselves, which we did, without using any upsetting job titles, such as "homicide detective", "FBI", or "CIA."

She shook hands all around and gave Nash a special smile. Women are such bad judges of character.

Donna began, "Welcome to the Plum Island Animal Disease Center research facility. I'm sure Paul briefed you and gave you a nice history of the island and a good tour."

Her face tried to remain smiley, but I could see it was forced. She said to us, "I'm very… it's terrible what happened. I really liked the Gordons. Everyone liked them." She glanced around, like people do in police states, and said, "I'm not supposed to discuss or comment on any of that. But I thought I should say how I felt."

Beth glanced at me, and seeing, I think, a possible weak spot in the Plum Island armor, said to Donna, "John and Max were good friends of Tom and Judy."

I looked into Donna Alba's eyes and said, "We appreciate all the help and cooperation we've gotten from the staff here." Which, so far, consisted of Mr. Stevens' giving us the fifty-cent tour of the rums and wilderness, but it was important for Donna to believe that she could speak freely; not here and now, of course, but when we visited her home.

She said, "I'll show you around a bit. Follow me."

We did a little walk around the lobby, and Donna pointed out various things on the walls, including blown-up news articles and horror stories from around the world about Mad Cow Disease and something called rinderpest and swine fever, and other gruesome diseases. There were maps showing outbreaks of this and that, charts, graphs, and photos of cattle with blistered lips and stringy saliva running from their mouths, and pigs with horrible oozing sores. You wouldn't mistake this for the lobby of a steakhouse.

Donna now drew our attention to the doors in the rear of the lobby. The doors were painted that peculiar warning yellow, like the color of Plum Island on a map, and they stood out against the colors of the lobby, which were mostly shades of gray. On the left door was a sign that said, "Locker Room-Women," and on the right, "Locker Room-Men." Both doors said, "Authorized Personnel Only."

Donna said, "These doors lead to the biocontainment areas. This lobby along with the administrative offices is actually a separate building from the biocontainment building, though this appears to be one structure. But, in fact, what connects this area with biocontainment are those two locker rooms."

Max inquired, "Are there any other ways in or out of the biocontainment areas?"

Donna replied, "You can go in through the service entrance where the animals, the feed, supplies, and everything are brought in. But you can't leave that way. Everything and everybody that leaves has to go through the decontamination area, which includes the showers."

Mr. Foster inquired, "How are the products of dissection-wastes and all that-disposed of?"

"Through the incinerator or designated drains that lead to the water and waste decontamination plant," Donna replied. She added, "That's it-these two doors in, a service door in the rear, drains and incinerators, and on the roof, special air filters that can trap the smallest virus. This is a very tight building."

Each of us was thinking our own thoughts about the Gordons, about smuggling stuff out of the labs.

Donna continued, "The locker rooms are still Zone One, like this lobby. But when you move from the locker rooms, you go into Zone Two, and you have to be dressed in lab whites. Before you move out of Zone Two, Three, or Four, and back into Zone One, you have to shower. The shower is a Zone Two area."

"Is the shower co-ed?" I inquired.

She laughed. "Of course not." She added, "I understand that you all have been cleared to go into Zones Two, Three, and Four if you want to."

Ted Nash smiled his stupid smile and asked, "Will you be accompanying us?"

She shook her head. "I don't get paid for that."

Neither did I at a dollar a week. I asked Donna, "Why aren't we cleared for Zone Five?"

She looked at me, sort of surprised. "Five? Why would you want to go there?"

"I don't know. Because it's there."

She shook her head. "There are only ten or so people who are authorized to go into Five. You have to put on this kind of space suit-"

"Were the Gordons authorized to go into Five?"

She nodded.

"What goes on in Zone Five?"

"You should ask Dr. Zollner that question." She glanced at her watch and said, "Follow me."

"Stay together," I added.

We walked up the staircase, me trailing behind because my bad leg was getting draggy and also because I wanted to check out Donna's legs and butt. I know I'm a pig-I could conceivably contract swine fever.

So, we began a tour of the two wings that flanked the two-story lobby. Everything was painted the same dove gray or dark gray, which I guess has replaced the pukey green of older federal buildings. On the walls of the corridors were photos of past lab directors, scientists, and researchers.

I noticed that almost all the doors in the long corridors were closed and they were all numbered, but none of them had the name of a person or function on them, except the lavatories. Good security, I thought, and again I was impressed with Paul Stevens' paranoid mind.

We entered the research library where a few egghead types were browsing through the stacks or reading at tables. Donna said, "This is one of the finest libraries of its type in the world."

I couldn't imagine too many animal disease libraries in the universe, but I said to Donna, "Wow!"