Biohazard

We would take samples of the nutrient media and analyze their biochemical components, testing for pH and amino acids and calculating the concentration of carbohydrates and other compounds. Then we mixed in the seed material — the bacterial agent — to determine its quality, concentration, and viability. The process of seeding the agents was a delicate one and had to be performed under perfectly aseptic conditions. Next, we studied how temperature, oxygen concentration, differing components of nutrient media, and countless other factors affected bacterial growth.

Within months, I would move from the simple lab techniques of medical school to complicated industrial procedures in biochemistry and microbiology. For the first time in my life, I would work with pathogenic agents, learning how to infect lab animals and conduct autopsies.

Russian bioweaponeers divide their facilities into three zones, rated according to the safety of the materials with which they work. (Most countries have four.) Zone One is restricted to the preparation of nutrient media. Zones Two and Three are both "hot zones," sealed off from the outside world with special filtration systems. Zone Three at Omutninsk throbbed with the constant hum of steel dryers and centrifuges. In this zone, we had to wear bubble helmets, large gloves, and thick rubber outfits which we called "space suits." They gave us the slow, tentative stride of astronauts walking on the moon.

Zone Two had its own protective gear — not quite so cumbersome as the space suit, but still requiring an elaborate rite of passage from the outside world. To enter Zone Two we would shed our white lab coats and pants and put on a long surgeon's smock, stretching down to the ankles, and a cloth hood with openings for the eyes and nose. Over the hood we placed a sealed respirator mask. Then came high rubber boots and a pair of thin rubber gloves — two pairs if we were going to work with animals.

My first weeks at Omutninsk were exciting — and excruciating. I had been inside laboratories in medical school, but I had never seen a lab as large and forbidding as the one we were brought into on the first day. White tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, topped with microscopes, photometers, and row upon row of glistening glass test tubes and flasks.

We were given white lab coats, divided into smaller groups, and assigned to a lab technician who would serve as our mentor. My first trainer was a young woman named Svetlana, a blonde with blue eyes and a perpetually amused expression as she led us through our lab work. I was half in love with her, which made it all the more embarrassing when the fragile flasks she ordered me to sterilize kept shattering in my hands.

"What a bear this one is!" she said to one of my lab partners.

I thought I'd never get the hang of it.

But slowly I gained confidence in a laboratory world that seemed to offer new discoveries every day. I learned how to use the delicate pipettes to transfer liquids from one vial to another as we heated them over Bunsen burners. The magic of making cultures grow from minuscule particles barely discernible under the microscope fascinated me.

We would arrive at the lab at eight o'clock in the morning, breaking only for lunch in the small cafeteria at noon before returning to our microscopes and test tubes to work until dinner. Sometimes we spent the afternoon in the library poring over scientific texts, which we were expected to summarize at weekly conferences. The lab training was only a prelude to our initiation into the heart of Omutninsk's mysteries: the giant reactors in which the industrial production of pesticides took place.

The workers inside the industrial building were less tolerant of our youthful mistakes. They knew nothing of the real purpose of our training: as far as they were concerned, we were "fancy" university grads who had never gotten our hands dirty. We were set to work scrubbing floors and washing machines until we were considered trustworthy enough to assist in the running of the plant. The microorganisms we cultured inside the huge vats were harmless — such as Bacillus thuringiensis — but the complicated procedures involved in manufacturing them represented a rehearsal for our future work with pathogenic agents. The liquid cultures were transported between different buildings in the complex through special overhead pipes. The most important element of the process was to ensure that the cultures stayed pure from beginning to end. The need to keep our working materials and our machines sterile was drummed into us every minute of the day. Too tired and too excited to sleep when we returned to our dorms, we found relief from the pressures of the labs by venturing into town at night.