Silent Creed

48

Creed had awakened in the middle of the night to the battering sound of rain on the gymnasium roof, so he wasn’t surprised to find water running in the streets the next morning. By now he expected to trudge through mud. He didn’t, however, expect the cold.

Overnight the temperature had fallen. The chill in the air hit him in the face as soon as he stepped out the door. Both he and Maggie looked at each other and headed back inside to pull on extra layers.

Peter Logan and a National Guardsman named Ross picked up Creed, Maggie, and Bolo in a Land Rover. Mud covered every inch of the vehicle; the windows were splattered, making visibility difficult. The bumpy trek up the mountain and the two strange men in the front seat made Bolo nervous. Creed let the dog sit on the leather seat between him and Maggie, despite Logan’s disapproving look.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped. The fog had not returned, either, but the blue-gray clouds still looked swollen and ready to erupt without warning.

The Land Rover could go only so far. Then the foursome pulled on daypacks and followed Ross to the digging site.

Logan was subdued this morning. There were no wisecracks, no slaps on the back or inappropriate comments. Gone, too, was the leather jacket. He was dressed this time like he expected to get dirty. Creed wondered if Logan’s boss was getting impatient.

Why had it taken two days for Logan to feel enough urgency to come to the site? Even his surrogate, Isabel Klein, seemed to have disappeared. Neither of them had been concerned about finding survivors — possible staff members caught inside the facility during the first major slide. No one had explained if the bodies they were searching for today were employees. Creed remembered Vance telling him that the rescue crews hadn’t been given any information on the facility at all.

So many secrets. Everything classified. He knew that was the way Logan liked it. Creed could understand that DARPA might have safety and national security reasons for keeping things quiet. He and his dogs were hired to do a job. He asked only the questions that would help them do it. His number-one priority was the safety of his dogs.

Whether they searched for drugs or cadavers he had learned it was better if he didn’t know the details. He couldn’t afford to be caught up in any emotional turmoil that may have already affected the law enforcement officers he was working with. A trainer knowing and expecting too much could lead his dog to too many false alerts. You started to look for telltale signs and anticipate what your dog should be looking for rather than letting the dog’s nose lead the way.

In his attempt to maintain his professional distance, it occurred to Creed as they tromped through the sludge that he didn’t even know what role Maggie was playing in all of this. All he knew was that her so-called boyfriend, Ben, knew Logan well enough that he had arranged for her to be there. He didn’t care how she had ended up there, he just knew it felt good to wake up and see her lying so close to him.

Maggie had worked with Ross yesterday and the two of them took turns filling in what they had found. Ross explained that his crew had worked through the night to create a barrier uphill to divert the flow of water. To Creed that seemed like a huge undertaking just for them to be able to recover a couple of bodies when there were still possible survivors from the landslide in other areas.

From this level those barriers couldn’t be seen. Nor could the equipment used to create and hold them. Creed listened for engines but there was only the faint smell of diesel. What was left behind concerned Creed.

Deep gashes in the earth veined out. On the bed of silt between those gashes were chunks of concrete — some as large as boulders — along with frayed cable lines knotted around branches, splintered two-by-fours, and scraps of metal with sharp, ragged edges.

Studying the area from the ledge he noticed thousands of pieces of glass embedded in the muck. He had sprayed Bolo’s pads with a protective coating that Dr. Avelyn had given him to help prevent the absorption of toxins, but Creed couldn’t put out of his mind the cuts on poor Grace’s paws. Putting any sort of boot or cover on a dog could do more harm than good, tripping him up. He needed to keep a close watch and not allow Bolo to be down in this sludge for long periods of time.

Ross left them and headed farther uphill after whispering with Logan. At one point Creed thought he heard Logan say something to Ross, reminding the young guardsman that he was still in charge. An odd thing, Creed thought, for the deputy director of DARPA to say.

Then Maggie took her turn with Logan. Creed could hear her questioning him, continuing on when she wasn’t satisfied with his answers. Creed tried to ignore them and prepare.

He set his GPS and slid a separate unit into the mesh pocket on Bolo’s vest. Already he could smell the big dog’s anticipation. Creed called it “sweaty head smell,” although dogs didn’t sweat like people. The cooler weather would be better for Bolo, but it wouldn’t necessarily help with scent. It would slow the decomposition rate.

And just because they had drained the field didn’t mean that they took all the smells with it. Even Creed could detect mildew mixed with something caustic. The mud and silt would have already absorbed and mixed in a brew that most likely included human decomposition.

Maggie left her discussion with Logan and was already on her cell phone. Logan made his way to Creed’s side. He noticed Creed glance in Maggie’s direction. He shrugged and said, “Women — they’re usually a pain in the ass.”

“Then why did you invite her here?”

“I didn’t. My boss wanted someone official with forensic experience, someone from the FBI that he probably thought would be on our side. I doubt that he expected Benjamin Platt to send some woman he’s screwing.”

Creed felt the heat rush to his head. The throbbing had never left. The anger would only make it worse.

“I’ve worked with her before, Logan.” He steadied his tone because Bolo’s eyes were on him, shooting nervous glances toward Logan. If the dog believed Logan was any kind of threat to Creed, he’d drop Logan in seconds without warning. “She has plenty of forensic experience.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t need someone questioning me and making me look bad with my boss.”

“So what’s going on, Logan? Why are these bodies so important?”

Instead of telling him it wasn’t his business, Logan stared at him. Creed couldn’t help thinking the arrogant son of a bitch actually looked like he wanted to tell him. Logan’s eyes darted uphill, then back over his shoulder at Maggie.

“DARPA has research facilities all across the country,” he told Creed, keeping his voice low. “They operate with a lot of independence. That’s the way the head guys like it. Something goes wrong, the head guys can’t be held accountable if they didn’t know what the hell was going on, right?”

“Are you saying you don’t even know what this facility was working on?”

“We have a general idea.”

“You haven’t located the director yet?”

Creed watched Logan’s entire face stiffen before he said, “Yesterday your dog found all that might be left of her.”

Jason had told Creed last night about the hand they’d recovered.

“How do you already know it’s hers?”

“I’ve only met Dr. Shaw a couple of times but I recognized her signature red nail polish. She wore a diamond ring on her thumb. Of course, we’ll still run fingerprints.”

“The rest of her body is probably buried here somewhere,” Creed told him.

“All I know is that my boss has his panties all in a twist. Congressional hearings are going on this week — right now. That’s why Ben Platt couldn’t be here. The Senate’s looking for scapegoats for something that happened over fifty years ago.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Are you kidding me? Please don’t tell me that you’re still that naïve, dogman. This slide couldn’t have happened at a worse time. And I’m the new guy. I haven’t been on the job a year, but it’s my ass that’s on the line.”

“But you just said you can’t be held accountable for something you don’t know.”

“You missed the part about me saying it’s the head guys who can’t be accountable.”

“So what is this, Logan? Because if you have me involved in another cover-up, I’m not sticking around.”

“Another cover-up?” Maggie asked, standing less than four feet behind them.

49

They’re ready for your testimony, Mr. Sadowski.”

Frankie hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Too many strange sounds outside his hotel room door. That, and his concern that he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone. He regretted bringing Susan with him.

The strobe lights blinded him. If the clerk hadn’t guided him to his seat he might not have been able to find his way. Already he was perspiring and his pulse raced.

Senator Quincy asked him some basic questions. Then he went into a lecture about Project 112 and Project SHAD. He kept saying that he wanted Frankie and the others to understand what these projects were according to the Department of Defense.

“These series of tests were conducted between 1962 and 1974 by the Department of Defense. During these projects, the Department of Defense has admitted a number of weapons containing chemical and biological agents were tested. It is believed that some of these chemical and biological agents included VX nerve gas, Sarin nerve gas, and E. coli.”

The senator was reading from what was obviously an extensive document. Frankie could see him flipping pages.

“The purpose of these tests, according to the Department of Defense, was to identify the United States’ vulnerabilities to attacks with chemical and biological warfare agents. They had hoped to use these tests and their results to develop procedures to respond to such attacks. They sought to find out how chemical and biological agents behaved under different climatic, environmental, and other conditions.

“During a variety of these tests, a chemical or simulant of a chemical was sprayed from military jets. In the case of Project SHAD, the chemical was sprayed over a ship. Sailors were trained how to decontaminate a ship after a test and how to conduct air samplings.

“In some cases the chemicals were sprayed over a particular area and drift tests were conducted. One such test”—Senator Quincy pushed his glasses up before continuing—“was Project SHAD’s Shady Grove. Tests took place at Eglin Air Force Base in Florida outside Pensacola. It’s my understanding that this is one of the tests that you believe you were exposed to, Mr. Sadowski, allegedly without your consent or knowledge of what the test involved. Is that correct, Mr. Sadowski?”

“It wasn’t just without my consent or knowledge of what the test involved. I simply didn’t even know I was part of any test at the time. We were never told.”

“What did you think you were taking air samples for if it wasn’t a test?”

“I never took air samples. But I was stationed at the base when Shady Grove took place.”

“How do you know that if you didn’t even know what Shady Grove was at the time?”

Frankie wiped at his forehead. He had expected this to be tough but he hadn’t expect it to be an interrogation.

“I only know about Shady Grove now, after reading about it.”

The room buzzed as if he’d been caught misspeaking. But it was the truth. Frankie and his friends only learned recently about the tests and what they were called.

“Senator Quincy.” It was Senator Delanor who spoke now. “We know the facts of these tests. None of the dates are in question. We also know Mr. Sadowski’s service record.”

Frankie thought Senator Delanor looked tired. Even the carefully applied makeup couldn’t hide the swelling under her eyes.

She continued, “We gave Dr. Hess plenty of uninterrupted time to speak yesterday. Surely we can afford the same courtesy to Mr. Sadowski. Can we please hear his story? He’s been waiting a long time to share it with us. And I, for one, am very interested in hearing it.”

“Very well,” Senator Quincy said.

Frankie hesitated, but then he told them. He talked about what he remembered of the jet flying overhead. Of the problem he’d had breathing almost immediately. He told them about the reunion and all the ailments, the surgeries, the cancers, and about Gus. And before he finished he decided to tell them about his own cancer.

50

O’Dell looked at Creed, but she could tell from the pained look in his eyes that he wouldn’t or couldn’t tell her. She looked at Logan.

“This has nothing to do with you,” Logan told her. “Can we please get to work? Note that I’m using ‘please,’ and I’m not a man who uses that word.”

Logan stomped off, yanking his cell phone from a jacket pocket.

When she looked at Creed he was tightening straps on Bolo’s vest and finishing his preparations. He didn’t glance up when he said, “It’s not mine to tell.”

“Right. It’s classified.” She was getting tired of the secrecy. Ben hadn’t had anything to tell her, either.

“I didn’t say it was classified.” He snapped the leash on and stood. “Why are you here?”

The question surprised her. Maybe even more so because she didn’t have a clear answer.

“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.”

He stared at her, waiting for a better explanation. When he realized he wouldn’t get one, he turned away. The gesture felt like he had slammed a door in her face.

She had talked to Assistant Director Kunze before they left the gymnasium, filling him in on what Dr. Gunther had discovered and what she had said. Then she waited for his response and instructions. In the past her boss had no qualms about sending her into dangerous situations, once even sending her literally into a hurricane. But that morning he had sounded concerned.

She was used to politics coloring his judgment. He tended to be swayed easily by certain administration officials and several senators, Senator Ellie Delanor being one of them. Usually he was willing to protect those in powerful positions, so she was surprised when AD Kunze said, “I don’t like this. Those congressional hearings are going on right now.”

That’s what she was thinking, too, but neither of them would say it out loud over a phone. Someone wanted to control the investigation of these murders. Was Ben a part of that or was he being used, too?

Kunze told her to watch her back. Said he’d ask some questions of his own and let her know what he found out.

In the meantime she wasn’t sure whom she could trust. She told Logan about the gunshot wound that she and Dr. Gunther had discovered last night. Mostly she wanted to watch his response and hopefully learn something from it. He seemed more upset about them breaking into the temporary morgue than he was about the condition of the body.

“Protecting those bodies is my responsibility. You two had no business being there without me.”

“How did you intend for Dr. Gunther to do her job if you didn’t give her access to the victims?”

“She should have waited until someone with authority could be there with her.”

“I was there with her,” O’Dell had told him.

He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave her told her what she and Kunze suspected. Ben had asked her to go down and take a look because they needed someone discreet whom they could trust. But what they really wanted was someone who would keep all of this quiet, at least until the hearings were finished.

Seems the only ones down here she could trust were Ryder Creed and his dogs.

O’Dell noticed that Bolo’s nose was already working as soon as Creed led the big dog off the ledge and onto what looked like an empty riverbed. An empty riverbed that had been cut and carved out by the violent rush of floodwaters. It was still slick with patches of water. Creed was keeping the leash short and tight, letting Bolo lead him while trying to guide the dog around the debris. She imagined the dog would leap and rush if left on his own.

They had been at it for less than twenty minutes when a boom came from uphill. O’Dell felt the vibration under her feet. It sounded like an explosion. She looked for smoke, trying to see beyond the trees. Creed was hurrying her way, yelling something she couldn’t hear. He’d dropped Bolo’s leash and was gesturing for the dog to run.

She turned to find Logan and saw him farther up in the riverbed. His back was to her, phone still pressed to the side of his face.

“Run!” She heard Creed now. She thought he was yelling at Bolo but now he meant her, too. His face twisted in panic. He was slipping on the silt, backtracking. Bolo had fallen and Creed was pulling the big dog up. They were still in the middle of the riverbed.

O’Dell ran toward them even as Creed waved her in the other direction. But she dug her feet into a patch of grass on the ledge, trying to decide the best way to help them. If Creed could carry Bolo to the ledge, she could pull them up over the wet, slick riverbank.

A second boom. Closer.

This time she realized what had happened. It wasn’t an explosion. The barriers uphill had given way. A roar followed, and she could already see the wall of water coming down on them.

51

At first Creed thought it was another slide. He dropped Bolo’s leash and ordered the dog to run. But silt made it impossible. The dog’s legs twisted over each other and he stumbled. Creed stopped, wishing he could scoop the dog up under his arm.

“Settle, boy,” he told him as he lifted all eighty-five pounds into his arms.

Maggie was waiting for them at the ledge even though he had yelled for her to run. He still had five feet to go when the water hit. It knocked Bolo out of his arms and upended Creed. He tried to keep his feet together. Tried to stay on his back as the gushing water swept him up. But not far. The wave slammed him into one of the concrete boulders and Creed grabbed on.

“Bolo!” he yelled, but the thunderous roar filled his ears.

Creed climbed on top of the boulder, finding an edge and grabbing tight. It was like watching rapids rumble by. He searched for Bolo. Panic clawed at him when he saw no sign of the dog. Then he looked for Maggie and couldn’t see her.

A knot of branches punched into him, almost toppling him over the concrete. He kicked and sent it rolling on. Waves splashed over him and more debris threatened to shove him off. When the roar settled down he pulled himself higher, stopping when the pain stabbed in his chest.

“Creed!”

Upstream he finally saw Maggie. She was on her feet and keeping to the ledge. She had something over her shoulder. He wiped the water off his face to see better and his hand came back streaked with blood. He searched over the riverbank downstream.

Still no sign of Bolo and nausea kicked in his gut.

He should have held on. He imagined the dog’s crumpled body battered against one of the concrete rocks and he felt his hands slip. He wanted to let go and join him.

“Creed!”

Maggie was parallel to him now, ten feet away on the bank. So close and yet too far to stretch out and touch him.

She had rope coiled around her shoulder and she was unwinding it. In seconds she had one end tied around a tree trunk.

Creed laid his cheek against the cold rock. His arms ached. The water was slowing but was still too fast for him to stand and hold his balance. He closed his eyes, suddenly sick to his stomach. He’d never lost a dog. Hannah said it would eventually happen and he’d never be ready for it and she was right. His feet had slid into the cold water, weighing him down, allowing the current to pull at him. And still he hugged the concrete and kept his eyes closed.

“Creed! I need you to catch this.”

He wanted her to go away. Leave him. At least for a while.

“I’ll get to you next, Bolo. Just hang on.”

Creed’s eyes flew open. What did she just say? He stretched up on exhausted elbows. Maggie was looking at him, holding the knotted end of the rope, ready to toss it to him. When she saw the question on his face she pointed upstream. He had only looked downstream.

There in the middle of the rushing water was Bolo, standing with all four big paws clinging to the flat top of another concrete boulder.

52

Once he had the rope, Creed tried to make his way through the water. He attempted to stand and twice the water knocked him off his feet. If he hadn’t clung to the rope he would have been riding downstream, his body pummeled against the debris like an arcade pinball.

It seemed to take forever to get to the edge of the water. He could hear Maggie encouraging him in between telling Bolo what a good boy he was and to stay put for just a little bit longer.

Every time Creed heard her say something to the big dog he wanted to smile.

Finally he felt Maggie grabbing the collar of his jacket. She pulled as his feet found traction in the slimy mud of the bank. He rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath. Trying to tamp down the pain in his chest.

He felt Maggie’s fingers on his face and opened his eyes. She was kneeling beside him, caressing his cheek, her hand palming his chin, her thumb running over his lips.

“I was afraid I lost you,” she said in almost a whisper. And then, as if an alarm went off, she pulled him up to a sitting position. “I need you to help me get Bolo. Do you think you can do that?”

She started to help him get to his feet, but he waved her off. His knees were wobbly. When he stood up straight he winced against the pain in his chest. He waited for it to recede. It didn’t. Maggie’s hand was on his arm again.

“Maybe you can just tell me what to do,” she said.

She gathered up the rope, but Creed was looking at the ground for sturdy branches. He glanced up at Bolo. He could finally see him without any obstructions. The dog noticed and started to wag.

“Just stay, Bolo. Don’t move,” he told him in a calm voice.

The dog tucked his tail again, adjusted his feet, and eased his body down. Creed had trained his disaster dogs to navigate floodwaters and climb atop rubble exactly like the concrete boulder. He knew the dog would be okay. He had no idea how he was going to get him from there to here. Maggie must have sensed his doubt. She was back in front of him.

“I can get him,” she said. “But you need to tell me how to do that.”

“You can’t carry him. He’s eighty-five pounds.”

She glanced back as if reassessing. Her eyes came back to his. “You barely made it out of the water. You won’t be able to carry him, either. It’s going to be harder if I have to pull you both out.”

“Where’s Logan?” He didn’t care before, but now that the man might actually be able to help, he looked for him.

“Knocked his head. He’s out cold. I pulled him under the tent when I went searching for the rope.”

Creed was slow to respond.

“Ryder! You’re gonna need to let me do this.”

He knew she was right. He could barely hear over the banging in his head and in his chest. Still, he didn’t like it.

“Can Bolo swim?”

“He’s a great swimmer, but the water’s too fast.”

“I can tie the rope around my waist. I can hold on to him. Let him dog-paddle while I guide him.”

“The water’s muddy. There’s debris you can’t even see.”

“He’s not going to be able to stand there much longer. You’ve got to let me at least try.”

She grabbed his arm. Waited for his eyes. He could see that what she was about to ask of him was something she knew was precious and rare.

“Ryder, you’re going to need to trust me.”

53

Okay, you’re right,” Creed finally said. “You need to take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

He thought he saw a flush go over her face. The tough FBI agent always seemed a bit shy and vulnerable about taking off her clothes.

“They’ll waterlog you. Seriously, taking off your clothes will cut down the drag. Keep your shoes on. You don’t want to cut up your feet and maybe they’ll give you some extra traction.”

He started looking again at the ground for a sturdy branch to use as a pole. It might help keep her balance. If nothing else, she could use it to probe for debris. When he glanced over she was peeling off her last layer, leaving on her sports bra. She unzipped her jeans, then stopped and looked back out at the water. She caught him watching and zipped the jeans up.

“I’m not having some sewer rat bite me.”

He nodded. Tried not to smile.

He helped her wrap and tie the rope around her waist. They tied the other end to another tree trunk. He took hold of the middle. He’d try to dole out what she needed as she needed it and also pull her in. He handed her the tree branch.

“Keep it on the upstream side of your body. It’ll be easier to hold on to and it’ll stay in place. Otherwise it’s of no use to you. The current’s going to push and pull. If it knocks you down, keep your feet out in front of you. You want your feet hitting those rocks instead of your head.”

She was nodding and taking it all in.

“Do you remember some of those deep gouges?”

Another nod.

“If you step into one of those, don’t panic. The deepest the water’s gonna be is chest-high.” He had no idea if that was true, but as fast as the water was still running, he didn’t think she’d ever touch bottom in those crevices.

He pointed at a spot on the riverbank. “It’s going to be easier if you wade against the flow at a forty-five-degree angle. I know that sounds strange but you’re gonna need to trust me on that.”

He helped her down into the water and could feel her shiver.

“Whoa! That’s cold! Hold on, Bolo, I’m coming.”

She did better than Creed expected. She didn’t fight the current. Instead she worked her way slowly, sometimes walking, sometimes floating. Once she capsized and Creed reeled her in so she wouldn’t be swept downstream. She waved her thanks and started again, holding the branch to steady herself.

By the time she reached Bolo he was wagging, excited and ready to join her in the water. Then she did something that Creed did not expect, that they had not discussed. She took the dangling leash and weaved it around her waist, knotting it tight. If she lost her grip on the big dog he’d still be attached to her. But he could also yank her down the stream with him.

Creed fisted the rope in his hands, wrapping it around his wrists. He checked the knot on the other end that circled the tree trunk. It was still secure. The mud was slick underneath his shoes. It wouldn’t take much of a jerk to knock him off his feet. He bent his knees and squatted when he felt the current suck at Maggie. She had Bolo in the water now.

It looked like it was taking considerable effort for her to convince Bolo to go slow. He had to be exhausted and yet what pent-up energy was left made him want to swim like the dickens and get to his owner. But Maggie held him alongside her.

The branch, her balance pole, had been swept away when she helped Bolo off the rock. She couldn’t keep her feet on the bottom and finally gave up. Instead she dog-paddled with Bolo, letting Creed reel them in.

She used her other hand to push off the debris, anticipating it even when Creed couldn’t see it. She was maneuvering around the obstacles she had already encountered and noted on her way to get to Bolo.

When he finally had them at the riverbank, he gestured for her to hold on a minute. He kept the rope taut as he moved to the tree, adjusting the slack and retying it so it would hold Maggie in place at the ledge while he helped them up.

She untangled the dog’s leash from her waist. Bolo clawed up the muddy bank while Creed pulled and Maggie pushed. On land the big dog slobbered Creed’s face with kisses.

“Hold on, buddy. We need to get Maggie up.”

And Bolo joined Creed at the ledge. He went down on his belly, paws over the edge, as if he was ready to help. Creed gave him a section of the rope and the dog took it in his teeth. As he pulled Maggie up, Bolo pulled, too. Creed wrapped his arms around her and fell to the ground.

Finally safe, he tried to catch his breath. Maggie’s weight was crushing his chest but he didn’t care. He still held her tight against him. His lips found her cheek, then her ear. His voice was hoarse when he said, “You did it!”

She pulled up, careful to put her hands on the ground instead of pushing against his chest. She was smiling and breathing hard, pleased with herself, but he also saw relief. Incredible relief.

Bolo was ready to play. He head-butted Maggie, knocking her off Creed and into the mud. She grabbed his big wet body and pulled him in for a hug.

Creed tried to pull himself to his knees, and that’s when the pain stopped him. He lay back down, this time facedown in the mud, and he closed his eyes.

54

Ellie had tried to listen carefully to Frank Sadowski’s testimony. She jotted notes to stay focused, and yet her mind kept returning to those photographs of schoolchildren. She couldn’t shake the image of her father smiling as he posed with them.

She loved and respected her father more than anyone else in her life. Her ex-husband had said many times how difficult it was to compete with the man who had died a hero to his daughter when she was only twenty-two years old. She had worshipped her father. Now she had to shove down all the conflicting emotions battling inside her. She needed to deal with the facts — all of them — even those facts that countless government officials and elected representatives had conveniently swept away over and over again for the past fifty years.

Sometime between last night and today’s testimony, Ellie had come to the conclusion that Senator Quincy had always planned for her to be on this committee. She remembered that it was Carter, her chief of staff, who set the bait, making her want to be a part of these hearings by making it sound like a smart PR move. It was Carter who had suggested she cast herself as a sympathetic listener to the many veteran constituents who’d be deciding her reelection.

There were still things she didn’t understand, but she was convinced that Carter and Quincy had played her. And why? Maybe because they believed she could be easily manipulated. Of course she’d agree and be on Senator Quincy’s side. As for Carter — being Quincy’s chief of staff would certainly bring him more power, more prestige, and even more money. In this city, only one of those goals was enough reason for betrayal.

Now Ellie understood that Quincy had no intention of doing anything about the veterans, like Frank Sadowski, who’d been physically and emotionally affected by Project 112. It was all a show for Quincy to make himself look good, to wield his authority — or look like he was. At the end of the hearings he would do nothing more than any of the other committees that had had their chance in the years before. At the end of the day, Senator John Quincy would pretend he had done everything he could, then deliver absolutely nothing at all.

They were taking a short break after Mr. Sadowski’s testimony. A chance for everyone to stretch his or her legs. An opportunity for the media to get their sound bites out for the next news cycle. Ellie knew when they reconvened, Quincy would most likely be wrapping things up.

She saw Amelia Gonzalez come in a side door, her arms filled and her eyes darting around as if looking for permission to enter. Ellie waved at her assistant and watched her small frame politely weave through the crowd. The girl had listened to every word Ellie had told her, taking notes to make sure she got all the instructions. And here she was, the stack of envelopes in her arms, the task complete and just in time. Gonzalez would become an excellent chief of staff as soon as Ellie fired Carter.

She helped her distribute the envelopes, one at each committee member’s place. Ellie took her seat and the shuffle of the room followed suit. In minutes Quincy was restoring order.

“We’ve heard from all our witnesses,” he said. “If there’s no objection, we’ll conclude these proceedings.” He didn’t even look around the room and was ready to dismiss them for the day when Ellie spoke.

“With your permission, Mr. Chairman, I believe each of us reserves the right to recall any of those witnesses if we wish to have some clarification. Is that correct?”

She used her most polite tone and he shot a bemused look around the room, one that said without any words that, sure, they could make time for the only woman on the committee.

“Yes, of course, that’s correct,” he told her. “I’m sure our clerk won’t mind asking Mr. Sadowski to return.”

“Oh, I have no more questions for Mr. Sadowski.”

Quincy looked confused now, but Ellie didn’t hesitate.

“I’d like to recall Dr. Abraham Hess.”

55

They had to wait almost five minutes for the room to settle down and for the clerk to find Colonel Hess. During that time Quincy glared at Ellie while she instructed the committee members to wait before opening the envelopes she had left at each of their places.

Colonel Hess shuffled in with Colonel Platt beside him. The two men had been inseparable during the last several days. She had seen the same admiration in Benjamin Platt’s eyes that Ellie once felt for the colonel. As she watched the others in the room and the way they revered this man, she suddenly felt butterflies in her stomach.

What in the world was she doing?

Hess settled into his chair and adjusted the microphone to accommodate his slouching. Then he looked up at her and waited. They were all waiting.

“Dr. Hess,” she began with the same polite tone she had addressed Quincy, “you were kind enough to tell us the history and the importance of Project 112 and Project SHAD. As you pointed out, the 1950s and ’60s were a tumultuous time. It’s difficult to understand the level of threat when many of us here were children or, in some cases, weren’t even born yet.”

Hess nodded and she noticed that everyone seemed to ease back for what they now believed would be a boring summary and public pat on the back for Dr. Hess.

“I think what none of us realized was that these tests — like those that were simulated for Project 112—weren’t the only ones going on across the country.”

She paused and let that sink in. She hoped to see Dr. Hess look surprised or at the very least maybe just a little rattled. He remained unmoved, his gaze unwavering. Perhaps he tilted his head a fraction as he waited her out.

“What exactly are you saying, Senator Delanor?” It was Quincy who appeared anxious. This wasn’t what he had expected.

“There were other tests,” she said casually. “Minneapolis, Saint Louis, Detroit.” She waved a hand at the envelopes. “Go ahead and take a look. The evidence was documented many years ago. It just hasn’t been brought to the attention of this committee. Or, to my knowledge, to any of the committees that have investigated Project 112 or Project SHAD.”

“Those tests have nothing to do with either,” Dr. Hess said in a calm voice. “If you’ve read the reports, you certainly know that.” The professorial tone was back.

“I beg to differ, Dr. Hess. There are similarities. The army sprayed clouds of what they believed was a nontoxic material.” She pretended to refer to her notes but the details were still fresh in her memory. “I believe it was zinc cadmium sulfide. Does that sound correct, Dr. Hess?”

“I don’t have the benefit of having those details in front of me, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Between 1952 and 1969 multiple cities were used as test sites, as were multiple areas within each city. The ‘nontoxic’ material was sprayed from generators in the rear of trucks or in some cases from rooftops. At least one of those sites in Minneapolis was a public elementary school.” She paused and looked up at Hess. “Does this sound familiar now?”

He shifted slightly in his chair.

“Zinc sulfide is a fluorescent phosphor, chosen so scientists could actually test the students at various times with ‘special lights.’ Residual traces would illuminate on the children’s shoes or clothing or even on their bodies. The test was used to see if it showed up, and then how long it stayed.”

Now when Ellie glanced up and around the room she saw that she had everyone’s attention. There were no looks of boredom.

“What I’m wondering, Dr. Hess, is who determined the quantities that would be dispersed?”

“Excuse me?”

“The zinc sulfide. The army and Fort Detrick conducted these tests, but who was it who decided the composition of the fluorescent particles or how much was a safe level to spray?”

“As with any of these matters, there is a group who makes those decisions.”

“A group?” This time she smiled before she said, “Are you telling me the army did things back then by a democratic vote?”

There was a nervous laugh that spread across the room but it didn’t last, and now Hess couldn’t hide his irritation.

“Let me be more specific.” Ellie told him. “Who determined how much zinc cadmium sulfide was safe to spray on elementary-school children?”

He stared her down. Good Lord, her father would be so angry right now. But she continued, “It was you, wasn’t it, Dr. Hess?”

“I was the scientist in charge of that particular area.” There were a few whispers, and as if Hess wanted to extinguish them, he added, “Along with your father.”

She paused and allowed the room to whisper. Hess meant for the comment to connect her to this atrocity and discount her, but Ellie hoped for just the opposite. If she insisted on bringing this to light in spite of her father’s involvement, perhaps it would make her case even stronger.

“Zinc cadmium sulfide is now believed to be toxic. Studies show that it’s toxic enough to cause birth defects and even cancer. Isn’t that correct?”

“At the time it was said to be a safe, nontoxic material. Because of its phosphor principles it was easily traced. No one was known to be harmed.”

“And how would they have known, Dr. Hess, if their cancer or their child’s birth defect was actually caused by your ‘nontoxic’ material? How could they know when you didn’t even tell them that they were exposed?”

Silence, but his glare answered for him.

“How many other tests like this were conducted, Dr. Hess?”

“I’m unaware of the number.” This time he shrugged like it made no difference.

“The army admits that more than a hundred similar tests were conducted in multiple cities across the country on unsuspecting citizens.”

Now the room seemed to come alive as people shifted in their chairs, cameras clicked, and committee members flipped through the copies of photographs and information from inside the envelopes.

“You have no right to judge.” Dr. Hess’s voice boomed over the room, a teacher scolding his students into silence. “It was a dangerous time. We faced an enemy like no other. The Russians were already far more advanced and had stockpiles of biological and chemical weapons that could level any one of our cities in a matter of hours. The Russians didn’t hesitate to use those weapons on their own people.”

“Apparently you and my father and the United States Army didn’t hesitate to use them on our own people, either.”

“The sacrifice of a few to save millions.” He shook his head as he said it, like she would never understand.

“Schoolchildren, Dr. Hess?” She held up the photo of him with her father and the row of smiling elementary-school students for everyone, especially the cameras, to see. “If you’d do it to schoolchildren without the public knowing, without their parents’ consent, why would we not believe that you’d do it to sailors and soldiers without their consent? Without their knowledge?”

The room went silent again.

“We need to give veterans like Frank Sadowski and all the others the medical benefits and care that they’ve been asking for. That they deserve. Even if it’s fifty years late.”

56

The smell of mud and mildew was replaced with antiseptics that stung Creed’s nostrils. It already hurt to breathe. He saw needles in his arm and tubes trailing from his body. And all he could think about was his dog.

He craned his neck. Tried to sit up and was met with pain. Lay back down on sterile pillows and white sheets stained with his blood. Machines gurgled and whirred somewhere beside him. His vision wouldn’t focus, breaking everything into pieces with halos of bright light around the edges. Still, he strained to lift his head enough to see over the bedrails. He needed to see if his dog was okay. If Rufus was safe.

Never leave their side. No matter what.

Not like Brodie. He should have gone with her.

Something startled him and Creed sat up. But he wasn’t in a hospital. He was back in his cot. Back in the high school gymnasium. Grace stirred beside him and looked up at him, ears perched forward. Concern in her eyes. On the floor in between his cot and what had been Maggie’s cot last night was Bolo, stretched out on the floor, fast asleep.

He realized the antiseptic smell came from his own body. He was shirtless beneath the blanket. Fresh bandages wrapped around his chest. But these weren’t tight. Instead Creed could see that they were used only to keep a thin ice pack the length and width of his chest pressed against him.

He fingered his face and felt stitches now where the butterfly bandage had been. He looked around the open space. Almost all the cots were empty. No one was milling around. And through the small windows near the roofline he could see clouds rolling by. So it wasn’t nighttime. But that was all he knew.

His body felt numb but he could breathe again despite the stabbing in his chest. The pressure in his head threatened to explode. He tried to think. Tried to remember. He stroked Grace but she still stared at him. He let his fingers run over her paws and she didn’t flinch.

“You okay?” he asked. “Is my girl okay?”

Her body wiggled against him. Ears went back and she relaxed.

“I’m okay, too,” he told her.

“You had us all worried.” He heard a voice behind him.

Dr. Avelyn came around and sat on Maggie’s cot where he could see her and she could observe him.

Suddenly he remembered the rush of water that had knocked him off his feet, that had separated him from Bolo. Creed had been battered against the rocks and debris, and so had the dog. He jerked up and his eyes darted around to where Bolo was lying.

“Whoa!” Dr. Avelyn grabbed his arm. “He’s fine. A few minor scrapes. He’s exhausted.”

Creed watched the big dog until he was satisfied. Then he asked Dr. Avelyn, “You the one who patched me up?”

“I wrapped some ice packs against your ribs. Not tightly. Maggie’s right. The medic probably shouldn’t have ACE’d you so tight like that on the first day. Compression wraps used to be recommended for broken ribs. But they just make it harder for you to breathe and double your risk for pneumonia.”

“Do I have pneumonia?”

“Not yet. And hopefully not on my watch.”

He nodded. “So is this what you’d do with a dog with broken ribs?”

“No, I’d wrap his chest tight.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “Then how did you—”

“Did you know that Maggie was premed before going into forensics?”

He smiled and felt light-headed but otherwise no major pain. He looked back at Dr. Avelyn. “You gave me something?”

“If you’re in a lot of pain you won’t breathe as deeply as you need to. Don’t worry, it’s nothing that will incapacitate you.”

“Thanks.”

And he didn’t worry. Dr. Avelyn was one of the few people he trusted explicitly with his dogs. It would be silly not to extend that trust to include himself.

Which reminded him. “Is Maggie okay?”

“Some scrapes and bruises, but yes, she’s fine.”

“Any idea where she is?”

“That I can’t help you with.” She stood back up. “I need to get to my post.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “The crews will be coming in for the night. I’ll check on you at dinner.”

“Do you know where Jason is?”

“Said something about an assignment you gave him this morning.”

Morning had been a long time ago, but Creed pretended to know when he had no idea. Maybe she was right about a concussion.

“Promise me you’ll stay put and get some rest?”

He nodded.

“No really.”

“I’m not leaving Grace and Bolo.”

That satisfied her and he watched her leave. What he failed to mention was that he could take both dogs along with him.

57

You need to tell me what’s going on,” O’Dell told Peter Logan.

When he hesitated, she added, “I pulled your sorry ass from being washed downstream.”

She was exhausted and tired of arguing with the man. It had been a battle tracking down Ross and the other guardsmen, then getting both Creed and Logan down off the mountain and back to safety. Dr. Avelyn had assured her that Creed would be fine but that he desperately needed to rest. Logan, despite having been knocked down and knocked out, appeared to be back to his normal, arrogant self.

“Ross’s team thinks they found part of the facility. It’s buried farther up from where we were digging. They think they have a secure opening to get down into it.”

“Are there more victims trapped inside?”

He shook his head and she saw an exasperated look that he held back behind a smile.

“Now I understand that it was never about that,” he said, watching her, and she knew he was still trying to decide whether or not he should trust her.

At first introduction she had thought he was a bureaucrat, a political bully accustomed to everyone following his orders and giving in to his demands. In the last several hours she had caught glimpses of a man unsure of himself, on the verge of desperation.

She’d seen it before in the eyes of men who realized they’d been used or betrayed. What they did about it could often be the dangerous part. And she wondered what Peter Logan was capable of doing to survive if he had actually been hung out to dry by those powers above him.

They were sitting in the front seat of his Land Rover — the only place he insisted was safe from being overheard. Every once in a while he cranked the engine and blasted hot air. O’Dell had showered and changed into clean, dry clothes but she wasn’t sure she’d ever remove the chill from her body. It was as if the ice-cold floodwaters had gotten inside her veins.

“Ben told me that USAMRIID and DARPA were working together on something,” O’Dell said. “Is that what this is about?”

He seemed surprised and almost relieved.

“But he didn’t tell you what it was?”

“No. He said it was classified.”

“And you were still willing to come down here?”

“I work for the FBI, Logan. The murder of these men is a federal investigation. I know how to work around classified issues. I don’t, however, like having things kept from me, especially when they almost get me killed.” She let that sink in, then added, “At some point my help to you is worthless unless I know more details.”

“Fair enough. I hear you.” And still he hesitated. “At first I was told that we needed to find any survivors and recover whatever bodies there were. It wasn’t until this afternoon that I realized that wasn’t the only mission.”

“Bodies that had been murdered,” she reminded him.

The first man, supposedly a scientist, had been shot in the head. O’Dell had never seen his body. The other man had been shot in the back. Logan still hadn’t given her an explanation for who the victims were. Maybe he was getting ready to tell her whom he suspected had murdered them.

“And a woman’s severed hand,” she added.

“Dr. Clare Shaw.” He nodded. “She was the director of the facility. Dr. Richard Carrington was the man they found first. I have no idea who the other man is or the one that’s still buried out there. We believe someone murdered them all right before the landslide.”

“And you honestly have no idea who it was?”

“No. But I think I know what the killer may have been after.”

O’Dell stayed quiet and waited.

“Many of our facilities are researching new drugs and vaccines, new procedures to help our military. Back when I was a platoon leader I had my guys testing stuff like go pills and blast briefs.”

“Pills and briefs?” She wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with anything.

“We called them ‘go pills.’”

He’d misunderstood her reaction. She wasn’t asking what they were. She tried to be patient.

“I’m not sure what they had in them. They’d keep us awake on long missions. No hangovers or aftereffects. Blast briefs are underwear with Kevlar. My point is, there’s always something that’s being developed and studied. I was always willing to try stuff out. It was for our safety, right?”

“The man lying in the temporary morgue certainly didn’t look like anyone had his safety in mind when they experimented on him.”

“Experimented? What are you talking about? I thought you said he was shot in the back?”

“That’s probably what killed him, but his entire body looks like one big red bruise, like he was exposed to something.” She watched his face. “Wait a minute, you didn’t know that?”

“Ross’s men said they delivered a mud-covered body.”

“But you knew enough about the hand to believe it’s Dr. Shaw’s?”

“That’s a no-brainer. They told me they had seen red nail polish. And there was the ring.” He waved his hand in front of himself like none of that was important and she was derailing his train of thought.

“But you see, the bodies are incidentals.”

“You’re not concerned that one of your facilities might have been using people as human guinea pigs?”

“If there were experiments, they were done in a professional manner with volunteers who were aware of the risks. It’s no different than the private sector, like pharmaceutical companies paying people for their studies. These facilities do amazing research. That’s what you need to be focused on.”

She did understand that. It was what Ben and his colleagues did at USAMRIID. But the man on the stainless steel table in Ralph’s Meat Locker had been exposed to something extraordinary. And she couldn’t imagine him volunteering for something so severe.

“In order to do this kind of research,” Logan was still explaining, “they sometimes have samples — dangerous samples — on hand.”

He stopped and looked at her, checking to see if she knew what he was getting at. She stared back, waiting.

He took a deep breath and went on. “The samples are often stored in what you might call a lockbox. It’s a portable, self-sufficient biocontainment unit that keeps them climate-controlled and at a temperature that keeps them from being hazardous.”

“Biocontainment? What kinds of samples are you talking about?”

“Anthrax, dengue fever, a variety of man-made viruses.”

“Ebola?”

“Possibly.”

Now she understood his sudden change to desperation.

Once upon a time O’Dell had spent a week in isolation after being exposed to Ebola. Fort Detrick called their isolation unit the Slammer. It had been one of the most frightening experiences of her life. Any one of the Level 3 or Level 4 pathogens would be deadly. That someone may have killed the facility’s scientists in order to get their hands on those samples sent a new chill through her.

58

Creed had his boots tied and was working on getting a T-shirt over his head when he noticed Grace’s head go up. Then suddenly Bolo was getting to his feet, too. He turned to find Jason making his way down the side of the gymnasium with a small brown dog trotting at his side. Her floppy ears were pinned back and her head jerked from side to side, nervous about the new surroundings.

Her right leg was wrapped in a bandage and the back of her neck had been shaved to accommodate the sutures that now poked out. He couldn’t help thinking that the dog looked like him — beat-up, stitched up, but not broken.

“Hey, Grace, Bolo.” Jason stopped and addressed them from about ten feet away.

Both dogs glanced up at Creed as if asking permission to go check out the new dog. He put his hand up and kept them in their places.

“When you told me the guy had something for you, you could have maybe told me it was a dog.”

“I guess he didn’t find any family?”

“Grandparents, but they aren’t able to have a dog where they live. He said they sounded really relieved to know she had someplace to go.”

Creed reminded Grace and Bolo to stay, then he went around the cot and got down on one knee. He held out a hand for the dog, keeping it low so it wouldn’t be over her head. When she didn’t approach, Jason brought her closer. Creed waited for her to sniff his hand before he attempted to pet her.

“The guy said you found her in a vehicle buried underground?”

“Bolo found her. She was the only one alive inside.”

“No wonder she’s skittish. What do you suppose she is?”

“Hannah will know. I’m guessing she has some golden in her.”

“She’s small for a golden.”

“Do we know her name?” Creed asked.

“Dog tag says Molly.”

Her ears perked up.

“Hey, Molly.”

She wagged her tail but kept it down.

“New recruit?” he heard Maggie say from behind him.

“One of the survivors from the landslide,” Jason told her.

When Creed had woken up and didn’t see her, he was almost afraid she had gone back to D.C. He was glad to see she hadn’t. Immediately he noticed the bruise on her jaw. He stopped himself from reaching out to touch it.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him.

“A little bit like I ran into a big concrete block.”

She smiled and he could feel her eyes running over his body, as if to see for herself how he was doing.

“Are you up for a short stroll? Just to talk for a few minutes?”

She looked to Jason before Creed did.

“I can handle this,” Jason told them. Already he had Molly at the side of Creed’s cot, letting her exchange sniffs with Grace and Bolo.

“Grace.” Creed waited for the dog’s attention, then pointed at her. “Be nice.”

Creed asked if they could go outside. Maggie still had her jacket on and he grabbed his, wincing as he put it on. Maggie noticed but thankfully didn’t try to help.

The air was crisp but not as damp. Different shades of purple stained the clouds where the sun had gone down. When Creed looked up he could see patches of sky through the thinning layers. Even some stars.

He took guarded breaths, trying to breathe more deeply, remembering what Dr. Avelyn had said about pneumonia. The pain meds made it easier but he could already feel them wearing off.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for saving me and Bolo.”

“As I remember, both of you saved me once.”

She walked alongside him. They kept to the sidewalk across the street from the high school to avoid the rescue crews starting to come in. He let Maggie lead them away from the noisy engines and boisterous exchanges. The rest of the town’s streets remained fairly quiet.

“I need you to tell me about Peter Logan,” she said, and Creed found himself disappointed. He wasn’t sure what he had hoped she wanted to talk about, but it certainly wasn’t Logan.

59

You seem to have some sort of loyalty to Logan,” Maggie said. “And yet there’s an animosity between the two of you.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I don’t like him.”

“And the loyalty?”

“It’s not loyalty. I owed the man a favor. He’s collecting it.”

When Creed noticed Maggie shivering he pointed to the neon light of a small diner. They settled into a corner booth. The place smelled like greasy fried food, and despite how good the free meals had been at the school cafeteria, both Creed and Maggie ordered cheeseburgers and fries.

“How do you know each other?”

“If you want to know about Peter Logan, why not ask your friend Ben?”

She looked away, out the window, and Creed wanted to kick himself.

“Look,” Creed said, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that before this week I hadn’t seen or heard from Logan for about seven years. I don’t know much about him at all. It sounds like Ben works with him. He must have a helluva better understanding of him than I do.”

“I’m here because Ben asked me to check on a couple of victims who may have been murdered. The facility was federally run by DARPA. So the murders will be a federal investigation. My boss approved me to come down here.”

To Creed it seemed as if Maggie was going through this explanation for herself as much as for him. Like she needed the reminder of why she was even involved.

Their waitress, who had introduced herself as Rita, interrupted them with their Cokes, served in tall glasses made of red plastic.

Outside Creed noticed the clouds were feathery wisps, allowing an almost full moon to finally shine.

“We were in Afghanistan together,” Creed said as he watched streetlights flick on and more neon fill store windows. “My K9 unit was assigned to Logan’s platoon. He was the platoon leader.”

“So you were comrades.”

“No. That’s not the way it is. K9s move from one platoon to another for weeks at a time. For that reason we’re the outsiders. Also we’re the first out, first to die. They know not to get attached to us. But they have to depend on us to get them through a field. What we do — it’s always a little bit like magic to them. They’re not sure whether we’ll end up saving them or getting them all killed.”

“That’s why Logan calls you dogman. I didn’t know you were in the military.”

“I signed up to escape. After Brodie was taken, life just kind of crumbled.”

“How old were you at the time?”

He glanced at her. They’d never talked about this, but he figured she knew that his sister’s disappearance had been the reason for starting his business. Even Jason had found out that much by doing a simple Internet search. Maggie was FBI. She had access to much more.

But she couldn’t know — no one knew — how agonizing those searches in the beginning had been. Hell, who was he fooling — many of them were still agonizing. Because each time he found the unidentified cadaver or remains of a young woman, he found himself wondering if it could be Brodie.

“I was fourteen. Brodie was eleven. My mom was obsessed with searching. She’d get a tip about a little girl fitting Brodie’s description and she’d drop everything and go. One week it’d be LA. Then Houston. Portland. Chicago. It was crazy. After a while she went a little crazy. And yet it was my dad who ended up shooting himself.” He shook his head at the irony.

Rita interrupted again, setting down platters with burgers, fries, and enough garnishes to make a salad. She thumped down a bottle of ketchup and a jar of mustard, asked if they needed anything else, and off she went, leaving a new and awkward silence.

Despite the circumstances, Creed’s mouth watered as he smothered the fries in ketchup.

In between bites Maggie asked him, “How did you choose to be a K9 handler?”

“Brodie and I always had dogs growing up. As far back as I can remember I guess I always preferred their company. Present company excluded.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re gonna want whatever fries you think I won’t be able to eat.”

“Oh, I’ve seen you eat before. I’m pretty sure there won’t be leftovers.”

They enjoyed their meals and Maggie didn’t ask any other questions. It was Creed who brought up the subject again. Maybe he felt like he owed her for saving Bolo. For saving him, too. Besides, it didn’t matter anymore.

“When I was with Logan’s unit I knew he was selling stuff on the black market.”

She looked surprised.

“He always had free samples, whether it was pills or designer running shoes, sunglasses or protein bars. He was giving his guys stuff. I think some of it was experimental. But he was selling some of it, too. There was this Afghan kid named Jabar. Logan had him coming in and out of the camp so often that everybody knew him. So he never got stopped. Never got checked.”

Creed pushed his plate aside and stared out the window again. The memory was fresh because of the recent nightmares. Seven years and he could still see that kid’s crooked smile.

“One day Jabar came into camp and he was acting strange. Erratic. He was arguing with Logan about something. My dog started alerting. We were in the middle of camp. It wasn’t like we were out anywhere that IEDs could be. It didn’t occur to me that it was Jabar he was alerting to until I saw the kid reach under his jacket.”

“My God. He had explosives?”

Creed nodded. “I woke up in a military hospital. Later I found out that Logan was being hailed as a hero for saving his platoon from a suicide bomber. No one even questioned that maybe he was the one who put all of them in jeopardy in the first place.”

“Wait a minute. You said you owed Logan a favor. This sounds more like he owes you for keeping silent.”

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? I landed on my dog when the bomb went off. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt. I loved that dog. Before the explosion I was even going to sign up for another tour of duty so we wouldn’t be separated.” He saw the look on Maggie’s face. She knew where he was going.

“But dogs are considered the military’s.”

“Equipment. That’s how they were categorized. At least back then. Rufus was reassigned to a new handler. I tried everything I could think of to bring him home. For four years he was my rock, my stability, my life. Nobody would listen. Nobody except Logan.”

“Rufus is the chocolate Lab that sleeps beside your bed.”

Creed nodded, impressed that she remembered from her brief visit about a month ago.

“Logan made it happen. He got me my dog back.”

60

They were headed back to the high school gymnasium. O’Dell felt a bit numb with exhaustion. She knew it had been tough for Creed to share what he had. They were a lot alike in that respect — both slow to trust and stubborn about keeping their personal lives personal.

They walked side by side along the narrow sidewalk and she hated that each time their arms brushed she felt a spark of electricity. Suddenly she was keenly aware that later that night they’d be lying in their cots watching each other, less than two feet separating their bodies. Those broad shoulders, six-pack abs — and she imagined what he’d feel like beneath her touch. The scrape of his bristled jaw against her skin.

Later she’d realize the irony that she had been thinking about sparks when she saw the first flames. She wasn’t totally familiar with the layout of the town, but she knew immediately that they were coming from Ralph’s.

Creed pulled out his cell phone and was punching in numbers. She left him behind. Took the shortcut through the alley. The front door would still be padlocked. She’d take a chance that the back door might be open. She was half sick to find that it was. She didn’t get far. A body lay just inside the door, and in the darkness O’Dell tripped over it. Her hands came down in a puddle of what she suspected was blood, still warm and sticky.

She heard a gurgle. Maybe not dead.

The door opened and Creed stood against it. In the light that seeped in from the back alley, O’Dell could now see Dr. Gunther’s crumpled body. Her throat was slashed.

“We need to pull her out,” Creed yelled.

Already smoke billowed at them from deep inside.

O’Dell helped Creed lift the old woman, and she was sickened by the rag-doll feel of her body. He carried her to the back parking lot and laid her down on the concrete. In seconds he was on his knees, his hands trying to staunch the bleeding. But O’Dell could see the gap was too wide.

She could hear shouts and calls from the street on the other side of the building. Sirens filled the night air. So loud. So close.

The old woman was gone and yet Creed kept his hands pressed into the wound. O’Dell knelt on the opposite side and searched for a pulse. She didn’t know what else to do. She was worthless to the dying. She never had a clue what to do or say. Only after they were dead did she know what her job was.

Volunteer firefighters made their way into the building. The sound of water rushed from a nearby hydrant. The heat was enough that she was drenched in sweat on a night that had made her shiver earlier.

O’Dell imagined everything inside would be lost to the flames. Everything including the body and the severed hand. Every piece of evidence of what may have happened at the government facility that once sat up on the mountain.

And O’Dell couldn’t help thinking it was no coincidence that this should happen only hours after she had told Peter Logan about the strange bruising and rash that covered the dead man inside. The man whose body was now being incinerated.

61

You think Logan started the fire?” Creed asked Maggie and watched her face in the flickering light of the blaze that engulfed Ralph’s Meat Locker.

Her eyes had been wild with adrenaline just moments ago when they pulled the woman from the building. Now he worried as she stared, almost hypnotized by the dancing flames.

Rescue crews who had been coming in from a day of working the landslide had joined the firefighters. They were hosing down the neighboring buildings, hoping to keep the fire from spreading. A second explosion inside the brick structure prevented them from entering.

Creed felt the spray of cold water raining down even as the heat from the flames felt like it would scorch his skin. He and Maggie stood in the back alley, guarding the old woman’s body, now covered by a tarp.

Earlier, one of the medics had taken over, shoving Creed aside. But he knew it was too late. The blood had been warm on his hands but there was no sign of life. No fluttering eyelids. No beat of a pulse under his fingers. Not a single gasp or breath.

Maggie had told him the old woman was Dr. Gunther, the medical examiner. And then she went silent. Now she stood, arms crossed over her chest, looking angry and annoyed that the firefighters had asked them to keep back and stay with the body. Maybe it wasn’t anger as much as frustration. That’s what he was feeling — frustrated that there wasn’t anything more he could do.

But then out of the silence, Maggie said, “Logan did this.”

It was almost as if she was telling herself. She didn’t even seem to have heard his question.

Just when Creed was about to ask again, she said, “You don’t think he’s capable of doing something like this?”

“If he thought it might save his own skin, I think he might be capable of doing just about anything. But why would he do this? Especially after being such a pain in the ass about recovering those bodies?”

Now Maggie’s eyes darted around. Was she looking for Logan? Or was she worried they’d be overheard? No one was paying attention to the two of them. People were rushing by, once even bumping a hose over the tarp, not noticing as Creed pulled it up and readjusted it.

“The body we dug up yesterday had a strange bruising all over it. At first Dr. Gunther thought it looked like chemical burns.”

“There’s a lot of weird stuff that leaked into the mud.”

She shook her head, moved closer to him, and turned so that she was facing him. “They weren’t postmortem.”

“She was sure about that?”

“The skin had bubbled up in places. We discounted burns. It almost looked like a rash, except that it was deeper. More like a bruise. And in some areas the skin practically fell away with the slightest touch.”

“Fell away? Not from decomp?”

“He wasn’t dead long enough for that kind of decomposition.”

He realized that she had quieted her tone. Anything less and she’d be whispering.

“What did she think it was from?”

“She hadn’t been able to make that determination. I’m guessing that’s what brought her back here tonight.”

“Why come at night? Wasn’t she hired to process the bodies we recovered?”

“Someone padlocked the front door. Ralph gave her a key to the back door. Otherwise she wouldn’t have had access until Logan allowed it.”

“So Logan didn’t really want anyone examining the bodies?”

“I guess not. But here’s the weird part. I told him about the condition of the body, and he seemed surprised. He knew about the bullet hole in the back, but he pretended not to know about the strange bruising.”

“So you think this is how he prevents anyone else from knowing?”

She was biting her lower lip when she nodded this time.

“Only one problem,” she said. “He knows that I know.”

62

Creed hadn’t noticed in the last twenty-four hours whether or not Maggie was carrying a weapon. Now as she sat on her cot and peeled off her sweatshirt he saw the shoulder holster snug against her side, just under her left breast. There was an unsettling nervous energy about her. Even the dogs sensed it.

All the way back she had been obsessed with her cell phone, leaving messages, then checking every five minutes. She had it beside her. Creed sat down opposite her on his cot, so close their knees brushed.

“Maggie, what’s going on?”

“I’m trying to find out.” Her eyes were on the phone, waiting. “Logan told me recovering the bodies was only part of their mission. He said the facility had samples of Level 3 and Level 4 pathogens.”

“Why would they have those?”

“They’re a research facility.” She shrugged. “It’s actually not that unusual. Unfortunate, but not unusual. If they were trying to come up with a vaccine or antidote, they’d need samples of the real stuff.”

“Wait a minute. What are we talking about? You mean like anthrax?”

“Anthrax. Possibly the bird flu. Maybe Ebola.”

Creed took a deep breath and winced. He was hanging on to the final threads of the pain medicine Dr. Avelyn had given him.

“He said the samples are stored in a lockbox. He thinks someone was trying to steal it. That they murdered Dr. Shaw and Dr. Carrington and these other men and hoped it would be covered up by the landslide.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked.

“I am telling you.”

“When did you find out?”

“Just before I came to get you.”

“But you’re only telling me now?”

“Logan told me in confidence. The bastard,” she mumbled. “Now I don’t even know if it’s true.”

“Wouldn’t Ben know about all this?”

She rubbed her hands over her face, wiping at the exhaustion.

When she didn’t answer he realized it was one of the phone calls she was waiting for.

Creed let it go and asked instead, “Do you think this dead man — the one with the strange bruising — do you think he might have been exposed to one of those deadly samples?”

Her eyes looked up at him and he could see that she had already thought about this.

Creed said the obvious: “If he was, isn’t there a chance that you and Dr. Gunther were exposed?”

“We had gloves and masks on. We didn’t come in contact with any of his bodily fluids.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes held hers until he saw the realization strike her. She grabbed his hand.

“I know what you’re thinking. Your hands were drenched in her blood. I can’t say for certain that we weren’t exposed, but I do know that she was careful. She hadn’t even cut him or taken any blood.”

Her phone rang, startling both of them.

She grabbed it, looked at the screen, and answered without a greeting.

“Thanks for calling me back. Have you heard from Logan?” Her face remained unchanged as she listened. “He told me earlier that you found where the facility is buried. I need you to take me there.”

63

At midnight O’Dell finally got a call from Ben.

“You sounded upset. Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. You need to tell me what the hell is going on.”

She was talking in a forced whisper so she wouldn’t wake those in the cots around her. She saw Creed stir but she knew Dr. Avelyn had given him another dose of pain meds. She hurried to find an exit.

Clear skies, but the air was crisp and still held the smell of the smoldering fire blocks away.

“Maggie, all I know is that the second body you dug up was shot in the back. And that Dr. Shaw is now believed to be one of the victims.”

“You had to know that this facility had Level 3 and Level 4 pathogens.”

She waited out his silence.

“Is that what Logan told you?”

“It would have been nice if you had told me.”

“We suspected it,” he said. “But I swear to you, Maggie, I didn’t know when I asked you to go down.”

“I can’t believe you let me dig around in the mud knowing what could have been mixed in the debris.”

“The lockboxes they use wouldn’t have been broken open.”

“Did you know that landslides can be so strong and violent that they can literally rip a body apart?”

“No, I didn’t know that. But I understand that may have happened to Dr. Shaw.”

“If they can rip buildings to shreds and dismember bodies, why wouldn’t a landslide be able to breach your lockbox?”

“It hasn’t been breached. I understand they’re still getting a signal from it.”

“I can’t believe that I had to hear about this from Logan. When did you think you were going to tell me, Ben?”

He was quiet again. She hated that calm he could manage in the middle of any storm. He had performed surgeries in Iraq and Afghanistan with mortars firing around him. He had treated patients with Marburg in Sierra Leone. He had treated Maggie and her former boss after the two of them had been exposed to Ebola. And always he maintained that disciplined calm that could be as reassuring as it was annoying. Right now, O’Dell found it completely annoying.

“I examined the body of the dead man last night with Dr. Gunther, the medical examiner. His skin looked like it had been exposed to something, Ben. Something extreme.”

“What did the ME think it was?”

“She wasn’t sure. But she thought she’d seen something like it before.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the 1960s, when the U.S. Army sprayed some experimental simulant over Eglin Air Force Base. She told me airmen were spitting up blood and bleeding from their ears. She thought the blisters and rash on the man we dug up looked similar.”

“How could she know this so many years later?”

“It obviously made a hell of an impression on her when she saw it the first time.”

“If they can ship the body up here, I’ll take a look at it myself.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“I’ll talk to Logan about it.”

“Someone set the place on fire tonight. Everything went up in flames.”

He was quiet again, then said, “I didn’t know. Maggie, I didn’t know.”

She stopped herself from sharing her suspicions about Logan. Then realized it was because she no longer trusted Ben. She had been waiting all evening to talk to him about all this, hoping he had answers or at least a better explanation for why he had kept such vital information from her.

“Look, Maggie, maybe I can talk to this Dr. Gunther. If she can explain what she observed, I might be able to help narrow down what happened to this man.”

At that moment she realized that even Ben was being kept out of the loop.

“Unfortunately she can’t do that, Ben. She’s dead. The same person who started the fire cut Dr. Gunther’s throat.”

More silence.

Then he said, “I’m coming down there first thing in the morning.”

It didn’t matter. O’Dell didn’t bother to tell him she would already be gone by the time he arrived.

64

Dr. Avelyn had given Creed another dose of pain meds to help him sleep, but they weren’t working. Instead he dozed in and out of consciousness. Twice he noticed Maggie’s cot was empty except for Grace curled up on the pillow. Around midnight he’d crawled out of his bed, fighting the exhaustion but needing to make sure she was okay.

“Which way did Maggie go?” he asked Grace.

She looked over her shoulder toward the back exit. Sure enough, Creed saw her pacing up and down the sidewalk with her cell phone pressed to the side of her face.

He went back to his bed and pulled the covers up, waiting for her to return. He must have dozed off again. When he opened his eyes she was curled next to Grace, but in the dim light of the gymnasium he could see her watching him. He pulled himself up on one elbow to meet her eyes.

“Why is this so important to you?” he asked.

She seemed to be thinking about it.

“A few years ago my boss and I were exposed to Ebola.” She pulled herself up on one elbow, too, and Grace tucked herself even closer.

“Grace goes home with me, no matter what,” Creed said, and he saw Maggie smile at the little dog. “Go on. How did you get exposed?”

“A note led us to a house where we thought there might be a hostage being held. The note was actually delivered to the Behavioral Science Unit — not an easy feat to accomplish. Assistant Director Cunningham took it seriously enough that he insisted on being part of the response team.”

She swatted at a strand of hair and stared over Creed’s shoulder like she was searching for the rest of the story.

“When we got there this little girl answered the door and let us in. We were still thinking hostage situation. The girl was dressed in soiled clothes. Her hair was tangled. Dirty dishes were everywhere. It looked like she had been abandoned and was living on her own. But that was only partly correct. Her mother was in one of the bedrooms. Very sick. At the time we didn’t realize that she was already crashing with Ebola.”

“So you were both exposed?”

She nodded.

“And the little girl?”

“She survived. Her mother, of course, did not. Cunningham and I were immediately put in Fort Detrick’s Slammer. That’s what they call their isolation unit. Dr. Benjamin Platt took care of us.”

Creed didn’t think he flinched but she looked at him as if he had and added, “It’s not what you think. It wasn’t a case of patient falling in love with the doctor who saved her. I had to trust him with my life. I suppose there’s a bond that naturally develops. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. We became friends. And ultimately, he did save my life.”

“What about Cunningham?”

Her eyes left his, strayed back over his shoulder again to the shadows.

“He didn’t make it.”

Creed could feel the emotion in that brief sentence. Maybe it was simply survivor’s guilt. He knew that all too well, but he suspected Cunningham held meaning in her life. He didn’t ask.

“Bottom line,” she said, “I know how dangerous these samples are. It’s not just a matter of recovering them so that they don’t fall into the wrong hands. They’re still receiving a signal from the box. But if it’s not found, who knows what could happen?”

“Why not leave it to the experts to retrieve it?”

“The experts already screwed it up, didn’t they? I talked to Ross and now he says that he doesn’t even know where Logan is. I’m afraid Logan is more determined to burn and bury this mess out of existence than he is with doing the right thing.”

Creed groaned.

“What?”

“Why do I keep surrounding myself with women who always want to do the right thing?”

She smiled. Creed reached out his hand across the space between them and over Bolo’s head. Maggie hesitated for only a second or two before she took his hand and squeezed it.

He held tight as he told her, “You do realize that the same man who saved you was willing to send you down here to possibly be exposed to something equally dangerous?”

This time she didn’t look away. She didn’t respond, and she didn’t pull her hand away from his.