Reckless Creed

by Alex Kava

  “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.”

  64

  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. Pla
tt looked exhausted. Wurth looked doubtful. But Ryder Creed simply smiled at her.

  MONDAY

  65

  HARTSFIELD-JACKSON ATLANTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  GEORGIA

  Jason 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?

  66

  OUTSIDE ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  Is it possible this place won’t show up on my GPS?” Creed asked.

  The last turn had put them on an old two-lane blacktop that seemed to wind and loop with no purpose. They hadn’t passed a house or any sign of civilization in over ten miles.

  “I couldn’t find it on the satellite either,” O’Dell answered from the passenger seat. “The place is supposedly off the grid. But these are the coordinates Agent Alonzo provided.”

  Creed shot her a look. “Any chance he got it wrong?”

  “He hasn’t been wrong yet.”

  Creed still wasn’t sure how Alonzo had managed to get the license plate number. Maggie had explained about the security cameras next door to the care facility where Carl Shaw lived. On the last day that Dr. Stephen Bishop visited, there had been only one vehicle with a Georgia license plate. Using enhanced technology, Alonzo had been able to pull the number.

  The black sedan was registered to the National Bio and Agro-Defense Facility, a sprawling campus outside Atlanta located at the foot of the Smoky Mountains and conveniently hidden in the forest. It coincidentally worked closely with DARPA and housed Level 4 laboratories. And it also housed agricultural projects. Several scientists at the facility had been instrumental in working with the USDA during the recent bird flu when millions of commercial poultry were infected.

  “Was this place ever on your radar?” Creed asked.

  “No, it wasn’t. There was no evidence that they had Level 4 pathogens here since 2011, so we didn’t know about the labs until Ben made some phone calls.”

  He knew that Maggie and Platt had worked together for the last twenty-four hours running down information on the facility. Platt had somehow even managed to get them access, gaining security clearance for Creed, Maggie, and Grace.

  Platt had wanted to come along. Having him and his credentials would certainly make this visit easier. But Maggie insisted that if Colonel Abraham Hess was involved, they couldn’t risk the DARPA director finding out and possibly tipping off Shaw. And Platt’s name on the visitors list could actually do just that. There would be many more questions about why the director of USAMRIID would suddenly choose to go to this particular facility.

  Instead, Grace would be the focal point. She had an appointment with a scientist at the facility who was working on a device that could duplicate canine scent capabilities. Creed knew there were programs across the country trying to build what they called “an iron nose.” Hannah had received phone calls from several asking for their dogs to participate in the research, but Creed had always declined. He was skeptical. A dog’s nose was amazing and complicated. He didn’t believe science would ever be able to duplicate it effectively.

  Creed glanced in the rearview mirror. Grace was in her usual spot. She was watching between the front seats, staring out the windshield, already anxious to get to work.

  Maggie had brought an evidence bag with unwashed personal belongings from Dr. Clare Shaw’s North Carolina apartment. The bag had been sealed five months ago and had been sitting on a shelf since then. He knew that enough of the scientist’s scent would have been preserved with the belongings, absorbed by the clothing’s fabrics. He had asked for at least one pair of well-worn shoes to be included, and if possible a pair of dirty socks.

 
People often wondered why dogs chewed up their shoes and loved their socks, especially when they left the dogs alone. Sometimes it was just a bored dog, but most of the time what the dog wanted was the scent of the owner—they found comfort in having those items. Also, shoes rarely got laundered. And no matter what Clare Shaw’s new disguise was, she probably hadn’t changed much about her feet. The scent would be the same.

  Their plan was to find the Biosafety Level 4 laboratories and catch Shaw off guard—that is, if she was actually at this facility. Creed was hoping Grace would then be able to identify her no matter what Shaw’s new disguise. He had faith the little dog could certainly accomplish the task. However, he’d warned Maggie that Shaw’s new identity would include new scents. Some of them would replace old ones. If she was dressing like a man she might also be using more masculine-scented soap, shampoo, deodorant.

  But there were other natural scents attributed to each individual, and some of those would be difficult to mask even with new skin and hair care products. Creed knew that a dog could smell fingerprints left on a wall the week before. He had seen Grace sniff out his footprints on a wood floor after others had walked over his tracks. An average person sheds about thirty to forty thousand skin cells per hour. Though weathered and dry, these still held scent. Scent that Grace could separate and identify. Or at least, Creed hoped she could.

  “Up ahead,” Maggie told him as she pointed.

  Through the trees Creed could finally see slivers of redbrick buildings.

  67

  HARTSFIELD-JACKSON ATLANTA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  GEORGIA

  This was it. Or so Jason thought as he watched Winnie.

  Her nose was in the air and her breathing was getting more and more rapid. She strained at the end of the leash. She had led him across the aisle to the boarding gate they were supposed to check out next. But the crowd was thick here. It was obviously a larger plane with many more passengers than their last several searches. They couldn’t just walk up and down through the seated and standing passengers. In some places they couldn’t get through at all.