Hotwire (7 page)

WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA

“I just spent three days in Norfolk,” Bix told Platt after chewing two forkfuls of peach pie.

“I’m guessing not at Virginia Beach on vacation.”

“Forty-two students at Geneva High School were throwing up their guts after eating lunch in the school cafeteria.”

“Food contamination?”

Bix didn’t respond.

“Unfortunately it happens more often than we realize.” Platt’s second bite of cheeseburger didn’t taste as good as his first. It certainly did nothing to Bix’s appetite. For a guy who wanted “just coffee,” he worked his way through the slice of pie like he hadn’t eaten all day.

“What was it?” Platt asked when Bix didn’t immediately offer an answer. “E. coli? Salmonella?”

The CDC chief put his fork down, grabbed his mug, and slurped coffee.

“Don’t know.”

“Too early to tell?”

“No. I don’t know. I’ve tested for all six major strains of E. coli and three different strains of salmonella. I haven’t found it yet.”

Platt stared at him, waiting for Bix to stop looking around the diner as if suddenly he didn’t want to talk. Bacteria could be tricky. Oftentimes you found only what you tested for. It wasn’t as if you put a sample under the microscope and the various germs lit up in different neon colors. Platt knew there were more than two thousand species of salmonella alone. Most of those existed in animals and humans without causing damage. Some were serious pathogens that could cause a wide range of illnesses and infections from gastroenteritis to typhoid fever.

“Are you saying it might be something we’re not used to seeing?” Platt asked.

“Could be a mutated version. I just don’t know.”

Platt watched the CDC chief fidget with his silverware.

“Was it accidental or intentional?”

“You know some people say our nation’s food supply is an accident of epidemic proportions just waiting to happen. We have an administration that’s declared child obesity a matter of national security and they want all vending machines out of schools. They want McDonald’s to quit enticing kids with toys in Happy Meals. They call Cheerios on the carpet for claiming their cereal reduces cholesterol when Cheerios is not federally approved”—he shot quote marks in the air—“to make such claims. And in the meantime, we have a national food supply that is more vulnerable than ever to accidents, contamination, and tampering. The feds’ answer? They need more regulations and yet they don’t, won’t, and can’t inspect what they already have authority over. They’re shutting down egg suppliers for a salmonella outbreak but forty-eight hours before that salmonella outbreak, a USDA inspector reported the supplier ‘good to go.’”

He shoved the silverware away and pushed back against the vinyl booth. All the while Platt sat quietly, allowing him his rant.

Platt was a soldier. He didn’t have the luxury of publicly voicing his political views like Bix, who, despite being a government employee, was still a civilian. That didn’t mean that Platt didn’t agree with Bix, at least with some of what he said. But it was late. Platt had driven almost two hours to the diner. He had the same drive back waiting for him. He didn’t owe Bix any favors. They were even as of Platt’s last count.

“What’s going on, Roger?”

Bix, finished with the pie, put his elbows back on the table, intertwined his hands, making a steeple of index fingers.

“It’s obviously a food-borne illness. Obviously some sort of contamination that took place. All of them ate lunch that day in the cafeteria and within hours they displayed typical symptoms of food poisoning: nausea followed by vomiting, abdominal cramps followed by diarrhea, then fever. That’s the first day. I wish they would have called me then.

“The second day, some began passing blood and complained of light-headedness. The third day, several experienced extreme pain. Some hallucinations. There were two seizures.”

“When did they call you?”

“This morning. Day four.”

Platt only now realized he had shoved aside the plate with his half-eaten hamburger. Under the table his hands balled up into fists. It couldn’t be happening again. It wasn’t possible. Less than two months ago in Pensacola, Florida, dozens of soldiers who had returned from Iraq and Afghanistan had gotten ill—several fatally—after surgeries to repair or replace their injured limbs. The symptoms had been similar. It ended up being a tissue contamination that no one could have suspected or predicted. Realizing another massive contamination could be happening again, only now at a high school, sent a wave of nausea through Platt.

Bix continued. “Most food-borne illnesses hit those with compromised or weak immune systems—the elderly or little kids. But these are teenagers—their immune systems not yet fully developed but they’re not high risk. Whatever this is hits quicker, faster, and harder than anything I’ve ever encountered.”

“Any deaths?” Platt almost didn’t want to know the answer.

“No. It’s early, but I don’t think there will be because, for the most part, these kids are all fairly healthy. That’s not to say there won’t be long-term effects for some of them. We’ve got almost a dozen hospitalized and I still haven’t been able to find the source of the contamination. I’ve personally ripped apart the kitchen. Found a few questionable lapses in cleanliness but nothing that warrants this degree of illness.”

“What about a kitchen worker?”

He shrugged. “Possible, but we interviewed and tested all of them. No one was sick. Could one of them have contaminated what they served because they went to the bathroom and didn’t wash their hands, didn’t glove up? I can’t say for sure, but this was so severe I’m thinking it had to be a food item that was already contaminated. For it to work this quickly I’m thinking the food had to have an established bacteria settled and waiting.”

“Did you find anything in the leftovers?”

“No leftovers. Remember, day four. Everything’s already in the trash. Dumpster already hauled off.” He held his hands up hopelessly. “I do have the list of what they ate and the suppliers. I could probably spend dozens of hours tracking down whether the contamination happened at the processing plant or at the distribution warehouse or even in the school kitchen. And these schools get stuff from all over the place, not just one center. It’s crazy, is what it is.”

“This can’t be the first time it’s happened.”

“CDC hears about it only when kids are hospitalized or if there are deaths. Haven’t had any reports in months. But schools are notoriously slow about reporting to us. And kids get sick. A lot.”

“Waiting until there’s forty-two at one time seems inappropriate. What are you finding in the victims?”

“I told you what we’re not finding—none of the usual strains. My lab guys back in Atlanta are still searching. It might be salmonella but a mutated strain. Do you remember the spinach recall in 2006? Two hundred and five cases. Twenty-six states. One hundred and two hospitalized. Five deaths. Only five, thank God. That was E. coli 0157:H7, a particularly virulent strain.

“I worked that case. We started by checking all the wrong things. It was E. coli so we were pulling victims’ refrigerators and trash cans apart looking for hamburgers, anything with ground beef. Several victims kept telling us, ‘No, we don’t eat red meat, we’re very health conscious.’ Spinach was one of the last things we even thought to look at. The victims were healthy but the strain was brutal.

“This reminds me of that case and I don’t like it.” He tapped his fingers against his lips. “I’m afraid this is going to be something like salmonella on steroids.”

“Any chance it’s intentional?”

Bix sat back again, the vinyl creaking beneath him. He started to rub his eyes then crossed his arms instead, and Platt figured he had just watched Bix shut down. He was surprised when the CDC chief said, “Yeah, I do. I can’t tell you why, but I do suspect it might be deliberate.”

“Have you told that to the USDA?”

“I called the department responsible for the school lunch program and they referred me to the new undersecretary of the Food Safety and Inspection Service. All I could get was some lackey in her office who told me that the undersecretary would get back to me after she gets my report and is able to do an assessment. Then she referred me back to the department that I originally called. I hate that runaround crap. And FSIS has a brand-new undersecretary, Irene Baldwin. I don’t know her but I already don’t trust her. She was the CEO of some huge food corporation. To me it seems a little like inviting the fox in to watch the henhouse.”

“Okay, then how about the FBI? Aren’t they supposed to be in charge of … what do they call it, agroterrorism? If this is intentional it would fall under their jurisdiction.”

“Right. In partnership with FSIS, FDA, and DHS. But yeah, FBI leads it. They put me in touch with Assistant Director Raymond Kunze. Actually I asked for Margaret O’Dell. I remembered she was the one who helped you crack that Ebola case last year. But I was told she’s out of town on assignment. Someplace out west in Oklahoma or Idaho.”

“Colorado.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Kunze is giving me R. J. Tully. He was on the Ebola case, too, but I heard he got suspended. Not sure I like getting second string.”

“Tully’s good. That case was personal for him. You’d be lucky to get him on this.”

Bix nodded.

“I’m not sure why you called me, though. You’ve got the FBI. You have some of the best scientists in the country back in Atlanta. If you want me to be a part of some task force, of course, I’ll help. But I’m not sure what I bring to the equation.”

“Your presence brings the one thing I hope I don’t need.”

“What might that be?”

“The United States Army.”

ELEVEN

NEBRASKA NATIONAL FOREST

After the last of the survivors was removed from the scene Maggie wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“I’ll radio for Olly Cushman to come on in,” Sheriff Skylar told her.

“No, wait. Does the county attorney have medical training?”

“Medical training? Probably as much as you or me.”

“I spent three years in premed.”

He stared at her. Then finally said, “I’m sure he’s taken the same death investigation workshop I did.”

“A crime scene like this one is going to require someone with more training than a weeklong workshop.”

“Actually, it’s a day.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s pretty comprehensive,” Donny offered, then he quickly looked away, rubbing at his jaw but it was too late. Maggie had already seen his disapproval.

“You can’t examine these bodies out here anyway. We need to bag ’em up, get ’em to a proper facility. Maybe North Platte.” Skylar was addressing Donny now as if the two of them would make the decision. “Got to get them out of here before those clouds burst open and wash away any evidence.”

“That’s exactly why we need to get someone here now,” Maggie told him. “I think it’s important to examine them at the scene, especially with it being outside. It won’t matter how many photos we take. Has Cushman ever investigated a death?”

“Of course he has,” the sheriff said. “Beginning of summer. We pulled a woman’s body from the Middle Loup. That was a mess.”

“Homicide?”

“Accident.”

“I thought someone saw her jump from the Highway 83 bridge,” Donny said.

“It was ruled an accident.”

“What about homicides?”

“We haven’t had a homicide in Thomas County as far back as I can remember.”

“What about the State Patrol?” Maggie looked to Donny. “You must have someone who serves as a medical examiner.”

“We do in Scottsbluff.”

He had picked her up in Scottsbluff. From what Maggie remembered of the drive it seemed like an eternity and that was in daylight. She looked over her shoulder.

“We need someone now. There has to be someone closer. Someone in law enforcement with a medical background?”

“There is one person. Just outside of North Platte. She’s retired now. Lucy Coy.”

“No, not that crazy old Indian woman.” The sheriff tucked his thumbs in his belt, looking defiant.

“Lucy follows procedure,” Donny said. “We’ve never had a complaint.”

“Of course not. Anybody criticize, she’d probably put a curse on ’em.”

Maggie watched Donny’s jaw clench. She turned her back to the sheriff and asked Donny, “She has a medical background?”

“I don’t think she’s a certified MD, but she worked on death investigations with the State Patrol for years. Long before I joined. She taught several of our best investigators. Our course is a week long.”

“She probably taught them black magic, too.”

“She taught me, Frank.”

The sheriff held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head and smiling like he didn’t mean anything but indicating that he wasn’t really apologizing, either.

“How far away?” Maggie asked.

“Hell, I think her place is just south of here.”

“Call her.”

“It’d be better to take these kids in and let them get properly examined,” the sheriff protested.

“Call her,” Maggie repeated.