Reckless Creed (14 page)

NEW YORK CITY

C
hristina ordered hotel room service, then made herself eat as much as her stomach would allow. The Tylenol was keeping her fever manageable. At least she had been able to sleep on and off. But she still woke to sweat-drenched sheets. Her muscles ached so badly it was difficult to get out of bed. Even with the medicine her cough was getting worse. Her chest hurt when she tried to take deep breaths. It scared her but she tried to use the fear to keep herself going.

All the more reason to hurry.

She might not be able to get out of bed at all tomorrow. She had to do what she needed to do today or it would be too late for her. Of that, she was certain.

She prepared again for the day. Yesterday she had bought a zippered tote bag in which she could carry all her cash, meds, bottled water, and other necessities. When she put the strap up over her head she almost cried out in pain. It hurt just to lift her arms that much. How in the world would she be able to walk the streets of New York?

Yesterday she had tried to take a cab, and all the idling, the stop-and-go, and the exhaust fumes had made her so nauseated she almost threw up. She knew today it would be worse. Vomiting was not something she wanted to add to her list of ailments. It was already difficult enough to keep fluids down and stay hydrated.

For some reason Christina had expected the watchers to look more like her. Now she was beginning to believe they looked like soldiers—muscular and strong, walking with ramrod-straight backs, heads pivoting, eyes darting around and missing nothing.

She walked past Grand Central Terminal and continued for several blocks before she realized that the same soldier who had been on post at the entrance two days before was now watching her again. Only this time he wasn't wearing military fatigues. At first she thought she must be mistaken until his eyes met hers. She'd recognize those intense black eyes anywhere.

Christina tried to pretend that he was of no interest to her. That she didn't notice that he appeared to be following her. She stopped in front of a small shop to admire the decorated pastries in the window. She could see his reflection. He was definitely watching her.

The drumming of her heartbeat made her chest ache even more. Were they getting cocky or sloppy? Or perhaps they expected her to be so sick by now that she wouldn't notice? Either way it unnerved her. She'd never get away with what she had hoped to do. She tried to shake him out of her head.

Forget about
him. You can do this
, she told herself. How many times had she fooled store clerks who were standing in the same aisle as she swiped goods off their shelves in order to survive? The
key was confidence. That was when her first coughing fit attacked her.

She leaned against the brick wall of the shop and dug a bottle of water out of her tote bag. Somehow she managed to contain it. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that the soldier was now across the street buying a cup of coffee and not even watching. The cough must have convinced him he didn't need to watch so closely.

It was a small relief, and Christina felt the tension in her shoulders ease a bit. Then she started to wad up the tissue she had been coughing into and the panic returned. She had just coughed up blood.

PENSACOLA, FLORIDA

C
reed didn't want any more government men on his property, so he agreed to meet them in Pensacola. He watched the black SUV enter the parking lot of the Coffee Cup. On the edge of downtown, the mainstay breakfast place had a varied clientele. Businesspeople in suits filled tables alongside construction workers in boots and hospital staff in scrubs. It was the one place Creed thought two Washington, D.C., outsiders might not draw attention.

Now he wasn't so certain about that as he watched the two men get out of the vehicle—one in a leather bomber jacket and jeans, the other in turned-up shirtsleeves, trousers, and leather shoes so polished Creed could see the glint off their shine even from his corner booth. Although he had to admit neither man looked like the stereotypical government official. They didn't even look alike. Creed would have been able to identify Colonel Benjamin Platt as a military man even if he hadn't already known the man's background. In his casual attire Platt walked like an officer: ramrod-straight back, chin held high, head pivoting as he checked out his surroundings from behind the dark-lensed sunglasses.

Beside him the tall lanky black man surveyed everything from behind his designer shades, too. But this guy had an easy gait, shoulders rolling, arms swinging, his whole body in motion like he was moving to music, a silent beat that only he could hear.

Creed waited. Sipped his coffee. He kept his hands on the table and his eyes on the men but didn't gesture or wave, letting them search and find him. After all, they were the ones who wanted something from him. Suddenly he smiled to himself, realizing the reversal of roles. The last time Creed had seen Platt in North Carolina, Platt had something Creed wanted. Now the tables had turned.

Creed had never met the other man. Charlie Wurth came in first, and it was obvious this wasn't the DHS (Department of Homeland Security) deputy director's first visit to the Coffee Cup. He flicked off his sunglasses and offered a veteran waitress a wide smile. Then he asked her something and she actually smiled back. She turned and pointed at Creed from across the room.

At the table Platt started to make the introductions, but apparently he made them too formal or too slowly for Wurth.

“Call me Charlie,” he told Creed as he stretched his hand from across the table to shake Creed's. He slid into the booth while gesturing to their waitress, who was bringing two mugs of coffee.

He waved off the menu she handed him.

“I'm gonna have some of those fantastic grits of yours,” he told her with a familiarity as if he ate here every morning.

“Eggs?” she asked.

“Scrambled.”

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Sausage.”

“Toast?”

“Wheat.”

Wurth looked to Creed. “You having breakfast?”

“Already did about two hours ago.”

Wurth let out a whistle. “Early riser, huh?” Then to Platt he said, “Best breakfast you're gonna have.”

Platt looked distracted. Maybe a little uncomfortable. No, actually Creed thought he looked irritated, like he didn't have time for something as frivolous as breakfast. As if to please Wurth, he told the waitress he'd have the same.

“Ryder, more coffee?” she asked before she left the table.

“I'm good. Thanks, Rita.”

An awkward silence followed. Creed was in no hurry to fill it. Again, these men had asked to meet him.

“Last time I was here there was a hurricane barreling up the Gulf,” Wurth said. “Had Pensacola smack-dab in its crosshairs.”

“Which one?” Creed asked, only slightly curious.

“Isaac. Agent O'Dell was here with me.”

“I remember that,” Platt said. “I was here, too. Over at the naval base.”

Creed remembered it, as well. He and his dogs had spent days afterward looking for people in the rubble. Just then, he realized Maggie was the one thing the three of them had in common. And he figured that was about all.

He glanced at Platt's hands wrapped around his coffee mug. They looked well taken care of. An officer's hands. A surgeon's hands. Creed's, in contrast, were callused. He had a cut on the back of one, and although his fingernails were neat and trimmed, the left thumbnail had been ripped down below the quick, snagged on
broken concrete he had unloaded for the dogs' obstacle course. Wurth's hands were well kept, too. Not an untrimmed cuticle in sight.

“Maggie told me about the mudslide in North Carolina,” Wurth said.

Creed noticed that the deputy director switched from “Agent O'Dell” to “Maggie” almost in a calculated way, as if he wanted Creed to know that she was a friend of his.

“She said your dogs are pretty amazing,” Wurth continued. “You already know it was her idea that you might be able to help us.”

Creed thought Wurth might be trying to appeal to their shared camaraderie, so he was taken off guard when the man said, “So tell me, what makes you think your dogs are good enough for something like this?”

C
reed thought it was an odd way for the man to ask for his help—by issuing a challenge. He saw that Platt recognized the mistake and shook his head as he sipped his coffee.

“What?” Wurth said, noticing. “I shouldn't voice my skepticism?”

“If you're skeptical, why are you wasting my time?”

“Look, I've been with Homeland Security for quite a few years now,” Wurth said. “I'm well aware that we have canines that can sniff out bombs and drugs and find dead people. I've seen them do it.”

“Then you know DHS is already using my dogs and my services.”

“Sure, but again, for explosives and drugs. I get that. But seriously, how possible is it for them to sniff out sick people with this virus?” He stopped himself and glanced around at the tables behind them. “We need to track down these virus carriers that have been sent out with this thing. If we don't, we could have a major epidemic on our hands. So yes, I want to believe that your dogs can help or I wouldn't be here.”

“We've already been training for
C. diff
, diabetes, and a couple different types of cancer,” Creed told him.

“With proven success?”

“The tests for cancer have only been in our facility, but we've had a ninety-eight percent success rate. We've just started doing
C. diff
detecting in the field. Those results are trending around ninety-nine percent, but our testing field has been limited to a few skilled care facilities in the area.”

Wurth sat back and let out a low whistle. “That's impressive. But I don't understand how the canines can tell the difference. I mean, I understand that they can smell and identify a sick person. But how are they able to differentiate between diseases and infections?”

Creed glanced at Platt. The man was an infectious-disease specialist. He'd certainly be able to explain it better.

“I'm not a biologist,” Creed said, “but basically different antibodies are released by our immune systems to fight certain diseases. There are hormone and chemistry changes. Each disease, each infection has its own makeup, if you will.”

“And canines can detect the differences by smelling the person?”

“With
C. diff
the dogs just need to be in the vicinity of the person. About a ten- to twenty-foot radius. Last year we trained a dog for a little boy with diabetes. He's able to play football with his dog on the sidelines and from there, the dog's been able to detect when his insulin level dips too low.”

Wurth raised an eyebrow as if Creed were trying to pull one over on him.

Creed ignored him and continued. “Cancer's a bit trickier
because the different types sometimes trigger different reactions in the body. For some cancers we use breath samples.”

“Breath samples? So what do you think would work for this virus? I can't have you running your dogs up to people's faces while they wait in line at the airport.”

They went silent and pushed back as Rita brought their breakfasts. Both men thanked her. Creed noticed that Wurth shoveled a bite of grits into his mouth before Rita left the table. However, Wurth's eyes were still on Creed. For the first time he felt like the man was sizing him up.

“We use breath samples to train the dogs. That doesn't mean they need to be in a person's face in order to detect it.” Creed was getting impatient. Did Wurth not get the point he'd just made with the little boy and diabetes? Or did the man just not want to believe him?

“What exactly would you need then to train your canines?”

“Samples of the virus. Live samples. Lots of them from as many different people as you can get. At least a dozen or two.”

“If the virus smells the same, why does it matter that the samples come from different people?” This time it was Platt who wanted to know.

“When we train the dogs we want to make sure they're picking out the virus. Not what that person ate last night or their brand of toothpaste or any other ailment that person might have. We want the virus to be the only common denominator that the dog is detecting.”

Platt nodded, satisfied.

“I have a question for the two of you,” Creed said. “How can you assure me that my dogs won't be infected by the virus?”

“The bird flu hasn't been known to infect canines,” Platt answered too quickly.

“But this is a different strain. Tabor made it sound like dogs could get infected. He came to euthanize my entire kennel.”

Wurth waved a hand at Creed. “Look, that was an unfortunate incident by someone not affiliated with us.”

“He presented himself as a federal officer.”

Creed watched the two men exchange a look, and then Wurth shrugged as he slathered butter on his toast.

“You guys don't have a clue who he is.”

Again, neither man attempted to answer.

“He took the body of a young woman who was strangled. He may have killed a county sheriff. And you guys don't care to even know who he is?”

“That's someone else's jurisdiction,” Wurth said. “My job is to protect and secure the American people. We have others doing the investigating of who these assholes are. Now, what else would you need, Mr. Creed?”

“Reassurance that my dogs won't get infected.”

Wurth shook his head and finally said, “I probably can't give you that. But listen, you can train any canines, right? I mean, that's what I hear. That you don't have to have a special breed like other trainers who insist on using shepherds or Labradors. Is that true?”

“What does that have to do with anything? My dogs are just as valuable even if they don't have pedigrees.”

“Well, I'm sure they are and I understand you're attached to your own. What if we were to get you some disposable ones?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, from a shelter or something.”

“Disposable dogs?” Creed looked to Platt and finally saw a hint of distaste. Wurth hadn't done his homework or he would have known that Creed and Hannah rescue abandoned dogs, sometimes from shelters.

“Charlie doesn't like dogs,” Platt said, as if trying to make light of the situation and regain common ground.

“It's not that I don't like canines. This is serious business. I'm trying to save human lives, not canine lives.” He stabbed a piece of sausage but stopped before he put it into his mouth and added, “And yes, I don't particularly like dogs, but that's not the point.”

He wagged the fork at Creed. “How is it any different than what the police or the military do? They train them and send them into the line of fire. I understand you were part of a Marine K9 unit. Don't tell me your canine didn't go first every single time you went into an area filled with IEDs.”

Perhaps Wurth had done his homework, or more likely, Maggie had simply filled him in.

“That's different,” Creed told him. “When we work with military dogs to detect explosives we don't train them with live explosives. In this case, my dogs will be exposed to the live virus while training to detect it. Is there a vaccine available to protect them?”

“First of all, we don't believe dogs are at risk,” Platt said.

“CDC says they're working on one,” Wurth said. “For humans, but it could be weeks, maybe months. If we get something we'll make sure your people are first on the list.”

Creed hadn't even thought of his handlers and the risk to them. But they could wear masks and gloves. The dogs didn't have those precautions.

“How many dogs would you need?” Creed asked.

“For the short term we'd need enough to secure one major airport, twenty-four-seven.”

“How soon can you get me samples?”

“We can have at least a dozen by late tomorrow,” Platt told him.

“It takes about ten to fourteen days of training.”

“In ten to fourteen days hundreds of people will already be dead and thousands of others infected. I can give you seventy-two hours,” Wurth said.

Creed wasn't even sure that was possible, but instead of saying so, he asked, “What's in it for my dogs and me?”

“You save the world and become a hero,” Wurth said sarcastically. When he realized neither Creed nor Platt thought it was funny, he added, “Tell me what you want. What you need to make it worth your while. I do understand this is a major undertaking.”

Creed set his empty coffee mug to the side and stood up from the table. “Let me think about it. I'll get back to you.”

And he left.