Reckless Creed (21 page)

PENSACOLA, FLORIDA

T
his time Creed met them at the Fish House overlooking Pensacola Bay. It was warm enough to sit outside, so he got a table far from the entrance and close to the water. It was still early. They'd have plenty of privacy. He was expecting Wurth and Platt but was surprised when he saw Maggie walking between the two men. He had talked to her last night about Jason's discovery that Tony was connected with Dr. Shaw, but she hadn't said anything about coming to Pensacola. To be fair, she sounded completely exhausted.

Instinctively he stood up from the table, then realized maybe it made him look too anxious. They hadn't seen each other since North Carolina, and yet when her eyes met his, they held him the entire trek down the wooden platform.

He reminded himself that this was business. He'd let her take the lead. But when she hugged him he held her for a beat longer. It felt good.
She
felt good, and he wondered how he had forgotten how good she felt. He didn't even care that Platt was frowning at him. Wurth, however, had a huge grin.

It appeared Wurth knew this restaurant, too. Well enough that he took the liberty of ordering them all beers and appetizers, rattling off a list of his favorites. Then the deputy director sat back and looked out at the water.

“This is beautiful.” He waved his hand at the view. “And unfortunately I won't get to enjoy it.” Then he glanced at Maggie and said, “Maggie and I were in New York City. We actually went to Broadway. Didn't get to see one damned show. But we did get one of Dr. Clare Shaw's guinea pigs.”

“I talked to Roger Bix this morning,” Platt said. “Christina Lomax is responding well to treatment. He was impressed that she kept herself hydrated. I guess she was downing vitamin C and protein bars, too.”

“I thought you said there is no treatment for this strain of bird flu,” Creed said.

“There's no vaccine to prevent getting it,” Platt told him. “Once you get it, your body tends to be your worst enemy. Oftentimes there's more damage done from your immune system—friendly fire, so to speak—than the virus. Roger and his team are using an aggressive approach with a couple of antivirals. The method seems to be working with about a seventy-five percent success rate.”

Creed couldn't help thinking that once again, Platt sounded like a research doctor more concerned with statistics. At the same time, he knew that wasn't a fair assessment. Even before he admitted it to Dr. Avelyn, he knew he had a prejudice against this guy, and yes, all of it was due to Platt's hold on Maggie O'Dell. But Creed needed to focus on more important things right now.

“You said everything's changed,” Creed said. “Maggie told me this woman had some classified information.”

Wurth raised his eyebrows as he glanced at Platt to see if he knew about this. “You two talked recently?”

“Jason Seaver found a connection between Tony Briggs and Dr. Shaw,” Maggie said.

Creed was glad to see that she wasn't defensive about their conversation.

“Agent Alonzo has been deciphering the flash drive that Christina Lomax gave us,” she said. “There's a ton of information. Some of it still doesn't make sense. One was a list of names and addresses. Christina's and Tony's names were both on the list. And there was another familiar one.”

She looked at Creed and said, “Izzy Donner had been to the North Carolina research facility, too. It appears Shaw and her accomplices approached those individuals who were already in their database. Those who had already volunteered and been paid to take part in other experiments at the facility.”

“Do you have any idea who killed Tony and Izzy?” Creed wanted to know.

“Not yet. Christina talked about watchers. She said the guy who handed off the flash drive made her believe she wasn't supposed to survive the virus and that her watchers would make sure of that. She wasn't sure whether she believed him. She said she'd done other experiments and always been okay and also been paid very well.”

“Any idea who this guy was?” Platt asked.

Wurth shook his head. “She didn't get to look at him. But she did take a look at what was on the flash drive and got freaked out by it. They'd warned her against going to law enforcement, but she saw Amee Rief—the U.S. Fish and Wildlife biologist—on TV.
The documents on the flash drive talked about dead birds. She took a chance and contacted Rief.”

“Is that what Tabor was? A watcher?” Creed thought about Sheriff Wylie and wondered if he was a victim, too.

The mention of Tabor brought a sour expression to Wurth's face as he exchanged a look with Platt and Maggie. It was Maggie who answered.

“Lawrence Tabor works for DARPA.”

“You're kidding.”

“I've confirmed that he works for Colonel Abraham Hess,” Wurth told him.

“Let me guess,” Creed said. “Colonel Hess had no idea his guy had gone rogue.”

“Colonel Hess said that Tabor had been assigned to check on some things but that he had, quote, gone beyond the boundaries of his assignment, end quote. He assured me that Tabor is no longer on this assignment.” Wurth said this last part as he looked to Platt.

“The colonel means well,” Platt told them.

Creed thought Platt still sounded defensive and Wurth looked like he might not totally agree with the assessment that Hess meant well. Creed watched as Wurth shot Platt a look before he continued. “We don't need to worry about Tabor, but we do still need to worry about Shaw. She obviously has a whole crew at her disposal beyond the list of guinea pigs. I've already put every single one of those names on the no-fly list.”

“So does this solve your problem?” Creed asked. “You don't need my dogs if you have a list of names. Tony didn't use a fake ID. Did this Christina use her real name?”

Creed glanced at Maggie. But now her eyes were watching the water. Her attention and her mind seemed to have strayed from the table as well. It was Platt who answered this time.

“Yes, Christina used her real name. And so did Izzy Donner when she booked a flight for Atlanta. We don't know yet if there were others. So far, the CDC hasn't had any reports of the virus in cities other than Chicago and New York.”

“But documents on this flash drive allude to a ‘second wave' and a ‘third,'” Charlie Wurth said. “We can't assume they'll be drawing from this list only. There's a lot of information on the flash drive for Agent Alonzo and his team to siphon through, but getting this is really a lucky break for us. It appears to have come from an insider. Maybe someone who's having second thoughts about being a part of the plan.

“There are specific flights marked on specific dates. All of them have Atlanta as a common denominator either for flights outbound, inbound, or connecting. It's possible they've already purchased airline tickets for these. They're going through the flight manifests, but there's really no way for us to tell who on those passenger lists might be a virus carrier or which flights may have been chosen.”

“Can you just cancel all the flights?”

This time Wurth stared at Creed until a slow smile relaxed his face like he had finally recognized the joke. Then he said, “There must be at least a hundred and twenty flights over the course of two days. I have not been granted the authority to disrupt air traffic at the busiest airport in the world. At least not until and unless your dogs give an alert.”

“Why do you suppose Shaw chose Atlanta?” Platt asked.

“People coming and going from places all over the world,” Wurth said. “There's about twenty-five hundred flights a day. Eighty percent of Americans live within a two-hour flight of Atlanta. If you want to infect a whole lot of people all over the country, I'd say Hartsfield would be a great start. Think about it.

“Let's say they only use three virus carriers. Let's say each one is on a flight with a hundred and fifty people. Those hundred and fifty people land at another airport. For some of them, that city will be their destination, but for others, they'll board connecting flights and travel to yet another city. Then some of them will get in cars or taxis or they might take buses or subways and travel another hour to get home from the airport.

“Those hundred and fifty people not only have contaminated hundreds of others, but they will have also spread the virus over hundreds, maybe thousands of miles. They don't need to have an army of original volunteers or paid virus carriers. The first date on their schedule is in two days.”

They were all quiet for a moment. Creed watched Maggie, who still seemed to be only half listening as she sipped her Diet Pepsi.

“But I'm still wondering,” Platt said. “Why not O'Hare? Or Denver? There are other airports that would accomplish the same end results. Why choose Atlanta? Is it possible Shaw is somewhere close by?”

He glanced over at Maggie, who remained quiet. “When Charlie and I met you in the parking lot, you said you had some new information.”

It seemed to take her a minute to realize he was talking to her.

“I think I discovered why we haven't been able to find Dr. Clare Shaw,” Maggie said, sitting up and finally pulling her attention away from the water view and back to the table. “I think she's been disguising herself as a man.”

O
'Dell had been waiting to hear from Agent Alonzo before she shared any of her suspicions with the others. She had hoped to have something more to present as evidence than the mumblings of a lonely old man who was losing his mind along with his memories.

The care facility did have a mandatory sign-in for each guest, but only a name was required. No ID needed to be checked. No visitor badge given out. In fact, the guest book was in the lobby at the front door, casually displayed so anyone could flip the pages to see who had been there in the days before.

O'Dell knew the director had probably informed the staff that O'Dell was looking into the disappearance of Mr. Shaw's granddaughter. The staff member remembered Carl Shaw's doctor and had been eager to help with a description.

“He isn't very tall,” she'd said. “About five eight. A little pudgy around the waist. Always well dressed—suit and tie. Heavy-framed glasses. Dark hair—a little long over his collar. His beard is short with a few streaks of gray, but I'd guess he's in his forties.
Oh, and his hands are so neatly manicured. I notice hands,” the woman had told O'Dell with a trace of embarrassment. “Mine are always so dry. I don't take care of them very well.”

Unfortunately there was no record of where Dr. Stephen Bishop lived or practiced. He wasn't “local,” the woman had told her. Then suddenly she brightened at another memory.

“The car he drove had Georgia license plates,” she'd told O'Dell. “I was leaving once when he was arriving.”

Maggie repeated the conversation to her colleagues.

“Georgia,” Platt said now with elbows planted on the table. “That narrows it down.”

Wurth rolled his eyes at him. “You have any idea how big-ass Georgia is?”

“I already have Agent Alonzo trying to find any research labs in the area,” O'Dell said.

Wurth still shook his head. “Needle in a haystack. Too bad that staff member didn't remember the license plate number.” He laughed at that and sipped his beer.

“Security cameras,” O'Dell said, the idea suddenly hitting her. “Excuse me.”

She was digging out her cell phone as she shoved away from the table and headed for a quieter spot. She had asked about the camera at the front door of the care facility and the one in the courtyard, but unfortunately they didn't film anything. Both were monitors used only for staff to check on the residents. However, O'Dell remembered a preschool next door. Its parking lot ran alongside the care facility's lot with a patch of grass in between. She thought she had seen a security camera in the corner of that parking lot. Was it possible it captured both lots?

Agent Alonzo answered on the second ring. She explained it all to him and he listened quietly. She knew what she was asking was a long shot. Even if there was film available for the last day Stephen Bishop visited the facility, it could be so grainy there'd be no way to pick out the car, let alone its license plate.

When O'Dell returned to the table the three men were waiting for her. Platt looked exhausted. Wurth looked doubtful. But Ryder Creed simply smiled at her.

HARTSFIELD-JACKSON ATLANTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
GEORGIA

J
ason had nicknamed the yellow Lab Winnie—short for Winifred. She was smart and sweet. Maybe a little preoccupied with wanting to please him, but Creed said that wasn't a bad thing.

She had slept in Jason's trailer last night. Whenever it was possible—especially in the early stages and especially with shelter dogs—Creed encouraged the handlers to spend as many “off-training” hours as they could with their dogs. Winnie was such a good-natured dog Jason couldn't imagine why anyone would give her up to a shelter.

Last night she didn't even mind Scout bossing her around, telling her which toys were his. The only problem Jason encountered was catching the dog with a loaf of bread she had managed to grab from the corner of his kitchen counter. She had ripped into it and devoured several slices before Jason caught her. Actually Scout had caught her and barked frantically, tattling on her.

It was a funny story to share with the other handlers that
morning on the long drive to Atlanta. Penelope Clemence reminded him the shelter had told her the Lab had an odd addiction to bread. Jason realized they had no idea about Winifred's previous life, but he hoped she didn't devour bread because it had been the only thing she was fed in her life before the shelter.

They had all arrived at the airport early, before the first flights took off. Jason wasn't sure how Deputy Director Wurth and Agent Alonzo had figured out where they should be stationed and which flights they'd be covering. Actually he was glad to not be involved in that part. He had seen the toll it was taking on Ryder Creed, and Jason was glad to just follow instructions.

Each handler and dog had a separate terminal with a list of gates and flights with times. They were supposed to work their dogs up and down their terminal. When a flight arrived that was on the list, they were to stand off to the side at the gate as the passengers came in. When it got close to boarding time for each of the designated outbound flights, the dogs would need to work their way through the passengers waiting to board at the gate.

Wurth had warned them that there could be dozens of virus carriers or there might be none. However, if their dog alerted, they needed to activate a special app on their phone that sent an alarm to DHS with their location. The handlers were not to apprehend or attempt to detain. They were supposed to wait for a DHS agent. They could follow the suspect, but not engage. It all seemed a bit tame compared to what Jason had experienced in Afghanistan, but not that different. Many of those missions included a lot of hours of waiting, watching, looking for danger, followed by a burst of excitement.

For Jason this still seemed all too fantastic that the dogs could pick out the carrier of that scent from a crowd. He reminded himself that Grace and Molly had done just that at his grandfather's care facility. And thanks to the dogs, Gus Seaver's
C. diff
infection had been caught early enough that he was already recovering.

But Grace and Molly had been in training for months. Grace was a seasoned detection dog who could find just about anything Creed wanted her to find. Winnie had only days to learn. And after three hours and clearing every flight on their list without a single alert, Jason was beginning to wonder if the dog might be missing something.

She went through the drill, just as she had during training, working the air with her nose. Her whiskers twitched. Her eyes were intent, although they strayed once in a while when there were children close by.

Jason tried to remember what Creed always told him. “Listen to your dog. Pay attention. Your dog is your number-one priority. Assist your dog, don't try to influence her.”

He also reminded himself that the dogs could smell their handler's anxiety, fear—probably even apprehension. He didn't want Winnie to sense that he didn't believe she could do this.

Jason led Winnie to an empty corner. He had set the timer on his cell phone to make sure he gave the dog regular breaks. She was getting used to these and sat down, waiting for him to pull out the collapsible bowl and fill it with water for her.

Their next gate on the list was diagonal from where they rested. He saw Winnie's head go up and turn toward it. She sniffed the air and her nose started twitching. Jason felt a pinprick of excitement
until he saw what had drawn Winnie's attention. A little boy, about five or six years old, waved and pointed at the dog from across the aisle.

Was the dog distracted by yet another kid, or was she actually getting a whiff of the virus?