Invasive Procedures Read Online Free Page A

explain to her how incredibly inconvenient it would be for him to leave Level 4 after just entering it, not to mention all the time he would lose in having to disrobe from his biosuit, Frank thanked her politely and ended the conversation.
    Twenty minutes later, he arrived at General Temin’s office, showered and in full uniform. At thirty-nine, Frank was slim but toned, the result of adhering to the daily exercise regimen that had been drilled into him during officer’s training: get up, run, swim, run some more, throw up maybe, shower, go to work.
    His black hair was cropped short, graying slightly at the temples. His jaw was square and clean shaven; his cheeks ruddy; his lips tight as if smiling were a pleasure they only rarely indulged in.
    His khaki-brown uniform was well pressed and lightly adorned with a few colorful bars of achievement and rank over the pocket of his left breast. An officer’s hat was tucked under his right arm, and his black shoes were polished to an impressive shine.
    The secretary, wearing a uniform a little tighter than regulation would permit, didn’t look up from her computer when he entered.
    Frank drew closer and cleared his throat.
    She stopped typing, lifted her eyes to him, and smiled warmly.
    “Why, Dr. Hartman,” she said, batting her eyelids, as if his presence somehow embarrassed her and yet was an unexpected surprise.
    A true Southern belle, he thought. “General Temin asked to see me?” he said.
    “And see you I shall,” a gruff voice said behind him.
    Frank felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and turned to look into the weathered and smiling face of Major General Ned Temin.
    He was a round man, with the kind of gut that came from age and prolonged time behind a desk. His hair was white, heavily receded, and buzzed to a stubby shortness. His nose was wide and red, which, combined with the roundness and wrinkles of his face, made him look like W. C. Fields without the jaunty hat.
    Despite the inconvenience of the visit, Frank couldn’t help but smile. Temin was the kind of man who brightened a room just by being in it,laughing more perhaps than etiquette would allow, but never so much that anyone minded, since his laughter was so contagious and his demeanor always pleasant.
    “You don’t eat enough, Frank,” he said, louder than Frank thought necessary. “Look at you. You’ve lost five pounds since I saw you last.”
    “It’s the long trek to your office, sir,” Frank said. “I think it’s the farthest room from Level 4.”
    Temin laughed. “Bet your butt it is. I stay as far away as possible. I’m not letting one of those viruses in here to shrivel
my
pod.”
    Frank glanced surreptitiously at the secretary, who was typing again and didn’t look up, clearly accustomed to Temin’s choice vocabulary.
    “You asked to see me, sir? It sounded urgent.”
    Temin put an arm around Frank’s shoulders and led him toward the conference room. “You got company.” He opened the door and led Frank inside, not taking a moment to warn Frank who that company might be. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet our leading virologist, Lieutenant Colonel Frank Hartman. He’s the man who’s got that virus of yours against the ropes, so to speak.”
    Two conservative-looking men in dark suits stood and smiled cordially.
    BHA, Frank thought. Here for a status report.
    The taller of the two men, black, handsome, and broad shouldered, extended a hand.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t shake Frank’s hand just yet,” Temin said. “He’s been down in Level 4 and doesn’t wash up too thoroughly.”
    There was an awkward pause as the man looked questioningly at Frank’s hand.
    Temin chuckled.
    “He’s joking,” Frank said, taking the man’s hand and shaking it.
    The man smiled. “Yes, General Temin is quite the prankster. I should have known better. It’s an honor, Dr. Hartman. I’m Agent Tyrese Riggs of the Biohazard Agency, and this is my associate, Agent Carter.”
    Frank noticed that