Before Creed had a chance to say anything, Oliver Vance was making his way directly to their table.
“I’m glad you’re both here,” Vance said. “My crew pulled a vehicle out of a flooded ravine yesterday.”
When Jason and Creed came to the cafeteria they had passed by the whiteboard Vance kept in the gymnasium. The tally for missing persons had gone down to three. But the death toll had risen to seventeen. He was afraid Vance was getting ready to raise that number again.
“How many passengers?” Creed asked.
“Only one, but I recognized the victim.” He looked at Creed. “It was Isabel Klein.” He let the name sink in. “That government woman who brought you here.”
“Klein?” Maggie asked.
“She was Peter Logan’s assistant,” Creed said. “I haven’t seen her since that day. What happened? Did she slide off the road?”
Vance shook his head. “Not unless she was rushing herself to a hospital.”
“What do you mean?” Maggie asked.
“She was shot in the back.”
“Could it have been Ross?” Creed asked Maggie.
“It’s possible.”
“There’s more,” Vance said. “Her left hand was severed at the wrist. So far the rescue crew hasn’t found the hand anywhere inside the vehicle.”
Creed looked at Maggie and her face paled.
“The one Jason and Bolo found in the field,” she said. “It was a left hand. Dr. Gunther said it was a woman’s. But Logan insisted it was the director of the facility’s. He seemed certain it was Dr. Shaw’s.”
“Why would someone kill this woman, take her hand, and plant it at the flood site?” Vance was shaking his head. “This sounds like something from Daniel Tate’s messed-up mind. That man is telling some wild tales.”
“There was a diamond ring on the thumb,” Maggie said. Creed could see the alarm building in her eyes. “Logan was sure the ring belonged to Dr. Shaw.” She looked at Vance. “This may sound like a ridiculous question. Did you happen to notice if Isabel Klein’s fingernails were painted? A bright red?”
He thought about that and again shook his head. “I looked at her hand pretty good. There was no fingernail polish.”
“Why would Ross take Isabel’s hand and try to make it look like it was Dr. Shaw’s?” Creed asked.
“I don’t think Ross did it,” Maggie said.
Creed stared at her, and finally the realization hit him.
“Dr. Clare Shaw’s still alive.”
74.
Platt had wanted to take more time and make sure Maggie was okay. He knew she was still very angry with him. He deserved that. When all of this was over he’d find a way to make it up to her. She was safe. That was the important thing.
He’d spent almost an hour moving and securing the lockbox in the mobile lab. Another thirty minutes to gear up in the special hazmat suit he’d brought. Already he was perspiring and fogging up his face shield. He could barely see without wiping a glove across it every few minutes.
The mobile lab was cramped and a far cry from what he was used to. The USAMRIID laboratories at Fort Detrick were state of the art, furnished with some of the best equipment and technology in the world. They’d come a long way from those archaic methods that they had talked about in the last several days during the congressional hearing. Much could be learned from history. What Platt hated to admit was that some things had not changed. There were still threats, just as Hess had said. And there were still too many secrets kept in the name of national security.
But as messy as this situation had been, it could have been worse. Much worse. Hess had dodged yet another bullet.
Now Platt just needed to make sure nothing had ruptured inside this lockbox. And if it had, that nothing had leaked out.
He tapped the numbers of the combination, having memorized them from his conversation with Hess. The digital display remained unchanged. He thought he had gotten the numbers wrong when suddenly the light that had been pulsing red suddenly blinked to green and the lock snapped open.
With careful fingers, Platt eased the heavy lid up. He felt the cold rush up. Even after all these hours, the inside remained icecold. That was a good sign. No rupture. The tension started to leave his shoulders.
He could see the sealed vials standing in their slots, side by side. Unharmed. Unbroken.
Suddenly he noticed an empty slot. Then another. And another. No spills, no glass fragments. There was no way for the vials to have fallen from their slots. No way except to have been removed.
Three empty slots. Three missing vials. Three deadly viruses, gone.
75.
Memphis, Tennessee