Robin Cook - Toxin

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TOXIN

by ROBIN COOK

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

Table Of Contents

TOXIN

PROLOGUE

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

AFTERWORD

TOXIN

by ROBIN COOK

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book

is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher,

and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this

"stripped book."

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary. The settings

and characters are fictitious, even when a real name may be used. They are not

intended to represent specific places or persons, or even when a real name is

used, to suggest that the events described actually occurred.

TOXIN

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with

the author

PRINTING HISTORY

G. P. Putnam's Sons edition / March 1998

Published simultaneously in Canada

Berkley edition/February 1999

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

http://www.peguinputnam.com

ISBN: 0-425-16661-9

BERKLEY•

Berkley Books are published by

The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY and the "B" design are trademarks

belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by Robin Cook

CHROMOSOME 6

INVASION

CONTAGION

ACCEPTABLE RISK

FATAL CURE

TERMINAL

BLINDSIGHT

VITAL SIGNS

HARMFUL INTENT

MUTATION

MORTAL FEAR

OUTBREAK

MINDREND

GODPLAYER

FEVER

BRAIN

SPHINX

COMA

THE YEAR OF THE INTERN

This Book Is Dedicated to

Those Families Who Have Suffered

from the Scourge of E. Coli 0157:H7

and Other Food-Borne Illnesses.

I would like to acknowledge:

Bruce Berman, for his suggestions at the outset of this project as well as his

insightful critique of the outline for Toxin;

Nikki Fox, for sharing with me her extensive research on food-borne illness;

Ron Savenor, for helping me overcome a particular barrier in my own research;

and Jean Reeds, for her invaluable comments and suggestions on the work in

progress.

PROLOGUE

January 9th

The sky was an immense, inverted bowl of gray clouds that arched from one flat

horizon to the other. It was the kind of sky that hovered over the American

Midwest. In the summer the ground would be awash in a sea of corn and soybeans.

But now in the depths of winter it was a frozen stubble with patches of dirty

snow and a few lonely, leafless, skeletonized trees.

The leaden clouds had excreted a lazy drizzle all day - more of a mist than a

rain. But by two o'clock the precipitation had abated and the single functioning

windshield wiper of the aged, recycled UPS delivery van was no longer necessary

as the vehicle negotiated a rutted dirt road.

"What did old man Oakly say?" Bart Winslow asked. Bart was the driver of the

van. He and his partner, Willy Brown, sitting in the passenger seat, were in

their fifties and could have been mistaken for brothers. Their creased, leather

faces bore witness to a lifetime of labor on the farm, both were dressed in

soiled and tattered overalls over layered sweatshirts and both were chewing

tobacco.

"Benton Oakly didn't say much," Willy answered after wiping some spittle off his

chin with the back of his hand, "Just said one of his cows woke up sick."

"How sick?" Bart asked.

"I guess sick enough to be a downer," Willy said, "Has the runs bad."

Bart and Willy had evolved over the years from mere farmhands to become what the

local farmers referred to as 4-D men. It was their job to go around and pick up

dead, dying, diseased, and disabled farm animals, particularly cows, and take

them to the rendering plant. It wasn't a coveted job, but it suited Bart and

Willy just fine.

The van turned at a rusted mailbox and followed a muddy road that ran between

barbed-wire fences. A mile beyond the road opened up at a small farm. Bart drove

the van up to the barn, made a three-point turn, and backed the vehicle to the

open barn door. By the time Bart and Willy had climbed from the truck, Benton

Oakly had appeared.

"Afternoon," Benton said. He was as laconic as Bart and Willy. Something about

the landscape made people not want to talk. Benton was a tall, thin man with bad

teeth. He kept his distance from Ban and Willy as did his dog, Shep. Shep had

been barking until Ban and Willy got out of the truck. With his nose twitching

from the scent of death, Shep shrank back behind his master.

"In the barn," Benton said. He motioned with his hand before leading his

visitors into the depths of the dark barn. Stopping at a pen, he pointed over

the rail.

Bart and Willy ventured to the edge of the pen and looked in. They wrinkled

their noses. The area reeked of fresh manure.

Within the pen an obviously sick cow was lying in its own diarrhea. Raising its

wobbly head, she gazed back at Bart and Willy. One of her pupils was the color

of gray marble.

"What's with the eye?" Willy asked.

"Been that way since she was a calf," Benton said. "Got poked or something."

"She only been sick since this morning?" Bart asked.

"That's right," Benton said. "But she's been down on her milk for almost a

month. I want her out'a here before my other cows get the runs."

"We'll take her, all right," Bart said.

"Is it still twenty-five bucks to haul her to the renderer?" Benton asked.

"Yup," Willy said. "But can we hose her off before putting her in the truck?"

"Be my guest," Benton said. "There's hose right over there against the wall."

Willy went to get the hose while Bart opened the gate to the pen. Trying to be

careful where he put his feet, Bart gave the cow a few swats on its rump.

Reluctantly it rose to its feet and tottered.

Willy came back with the hose and squirted the cow until it looked relatively

clean. Then he and Bart got behind the cow and coaxed it out of the pen. With

added help from Benton they got the animal outside and into the van. Willy

closed the truck's back door.

"What'd ya got in there - about four head?" Benton asked.

"Yup," Willy said. "All four dead this morning. There's some kind of infection

over at the Silverton Farm."

"Criminy," Benton said with alarm. He slapped a few wrinkled greenbacks into

Bart's palm. "Get them the hell off my spread."

Bart and Willy both spat as they rounded their respective sides of the truck.

The tired engine let out a belch of black smoke before propelling the vehicle

out of the farm.

As was their habit Bart and Willy didn't speak again until the truck reached the

pavement of the county road. Bart accelerated and finally got the van into

fourth gear.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Bart asked.

"I imagine," Willy said. "That Cow didn't look half bad after we hosed her down.

Hell, it looks a mite better'n that one we sold to the slaughterhouse last

week."

"And it can stand and even walk a little," Bart said.

Willy glanced at his watch. "Just about the right time too."

The 4-D men did not speak again until they pulled off the county road onto the

track that ran around a low-slung, almost windowless, large commercial building.

A billboard-sized sign said: HIGGINS AND HANCOCK. At the rear of the building

was an empty stockyard that was a sea of trampled mud.

"You wait here' Bart said, as he pulled to a stop near the chute that lead from

the stockyard into the factory.

Bart got out of the van and disappeared down the chute. Willy got out and leaned

up against the van's rear door. Five minutes later Bart reappeared with two

burly men dressed in bloodstained long white coats, yellow plastic construction

helmets, and yellow mid-calf rubber boots. Both sported a nametag. The heavier

man's nametag said: JED STREET, SUPERVISOR. The other man's said: SALVATORE

MORANO, QUALITY CONTROL. Jed had a clipboard.

Bart gestured to Willy, and Willy unlatched the van's rear door and opened it.

Salvatore and Jed covered their noses and peered inside. The sick cow raised its

head.

Jed turned to Bart. "Can the animal stand?"

"Sure can. She can even walk a little."

Jed looked at Salvatore. "What do you think, Sal?"

"Where's the SME inspector?" Salvatore asked.

"Where do you think?" Jed said. "He's in the locker room, where he goes as soon

as he thinks the last animal has come through."

Salvatore lifted the tail of his white coat to get at a two-way radio attached

to his belt. He switched it on and held it up to his lips. "Gary, did that last

combo bin that's going to Mercer Meats get filled?"

The answer came back accompanied by static: "Almost."

"Okay," Salvatore said into the radio. "We're sending in one more animal. That

will more than do it."

Salvatore switched off his radio and looked at Jed. "Let's do it."

Jed nodded and turned to Bart. "Looks like you got a deal, but as I said, we'll

only pay fifty bucks."

Bart nodded. "Fifty bucks is okay."

While Bart and Willy climbed into the back of the van, Salvatore walked back

down the chute. From his pocket he pulled out a couple of earplugs that he put

in his ears. As he entered the slaughterhouse, his mind was no longer concerned

about the sick cow. He was concerned about the myriad forms he still had to fill

out before he could think of going home,

With his earplugs in place, Salvatore wasn't troubled by the noise as he

traversed the kill-floor area of the slaughterhouse. He approached Mark Watson,

the line supervisor, and got his attention.

"We got one more animal coming through," Salvatore yelled over the din. "But

it's only for boneless beef. There'll be no carcass. Got it?"

Mark made a circle with his thumb and index finger to indicate he understood.

Salvatore then passed through the soundproof door that led into the

administrative area of the building. Entering his office, he hung up his

bloodied coat and construction helmet. He sat down at his desk and went back to

his daily forms.

Concentrating as hard as he was, Salvatore wasn't sure how much time had passed

when Jed suddenly appeared at his door. "We got a slight problem," Jed said.

"Now what?" Salvatore asked.

"The head of that downer cow fell off the rail."

"Did any of the inspectors see it?" Salvatore asked.

"No," Jed said. "They're all in the locker room with the SME for their daily

chitchat."

"Then put the head back on the rail and hose it off."

"Okay" Jed said. "I thought you should know."

"Absolutely," Salvatore said. "To cover our asses I'll even fill out a Process

Deficiency Report. What's the lot and head number of that animal?"

Jed looked down at his clipboard. "Lot thirty-six, head fifty-seven."

"Got it," Salvatore said.

Jed left Salvatore's office and returned to the kill floor, He tapped Jos? on

the shoulder. Jos? was a sweeper whose job it was to sweep all the filth from

the floor into one of the many grates. Jos? had not been working there very

long. It was a chronic problem keeping sweepers because of the nature of the

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摘要：

TOXINbyROBINCOOKBERKLEYBOOKS,NEWYORK TableOfContentsTOXINPROLOGUEONETWOTHREEFOURFIVESIXSEVENEIGHTNINETENELEVENTWELVETHIRTEENFOURTEENFIFTEENSIXTEENSEVENTEENEIGHTEENEPILOGUEAFTERWORD TOXINbyROBINCOOKBERKLEYBOOKS,NEWYORK Ifyoupurchasedthisbookwithoutacover,youshouldbeawarethatthisbookisstolenprope...

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Robin Cook - Toxin

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