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
Dr. Clare Shaw exchanged the SUV for a sedan. She pulled out a credit card, but before she handed it across the desk to the rental car agent she checked the name on the card to see who she was pretending to be that day. Over the last year she had accumulated a stash of credit cards and photo IDs. Along with other important items like cell phones and extra cash.
She could remember the exact day she realized she would need an escape plan. It was the day she succeeded in replicating H5N1. If she could duplicate avian flu, what else was she capable of doing? But despite the so-called independence DARPA claimed to give her and the facility, her superiors had suggested new security measures, new checks and balances in the near future. They would never embrace her brilliance and allow her to continue. Even Richard had begun questioning her research procedures, complaining that some of her experiments were extreme.
Poor gutless Richard. Killing him was one of the easier parts of her plan. It pained her more to sacrifice the men who had been her current guinea pigs. And that government woman.
For all her planning, she’d never expected an actual landslide. The weeklong rains and the massive flooding were enough for her to put her plan into action. The landslide took her by surprise. She had almost lost the lockbox in the ruins. But the chaos that followed had provided her necessary cover.
Now, in the glass that separated the small office from the garage of cars, she checked out her reflection. She had cut her long hair but kept the bangs and decided she would enjoy being a redhead. The rental car agent seemed to approve.
He gave her back her card along with the keys to the sedan.
“Do you need any help with your bags?” he asked.
“No, I’ve got them.”
She picked them up, making it look effortless. She had already risked too much, paid too high a price. She couldn’t afford to make some stupid mistake now. She certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else handle the small gray case, despite how heavy the miniature lockbox might be.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
As I write this I’m reading reports from the National Disaster Search Dog Foundation. In the last twenty-four hours, a Himalayan earthquake—a massive 7.8—has claimed an estimated 2,500 lives. Aftershocks continue to trigger avalanches and landslides that have already buried entire villages. Search teams—dogs and handlers—from across the United States are being deployed to assist in rescue and recovery. I can’t imagine all the things they will encounter. I pray they’ll be safe and I will be anxious to hear their stories when they return, because real life is so much stranger than any fiction I can write.
Many of you who read my books already know I’m a news junkie. I watch the newscasts about the Nepal earthquake or read about the bird flu and, unlike most other people, I’m taking notes as I watch or read. I’m also a history buff, so it’s not unusual for me to include real details—present and past—in my novels. I wanted to mention a few of those real details in Silent Creed.
The tests that Senator Ellie Delanor stumbles upon actually did happen, including at least one that used schoolchildren at Clinton Elementary School in Minneapolis in 1953. From 1952 through 1969, the Army dropped thousands of pounds of zinc cadmium sulfide in nearly three hundred secret experiments conducted in such places as Fort Wayne, Indiana (1964–66); St. Louis, Missouri (1953, 1963–65); San Francisco, California (1964–68); Corpus Christi, Texas (1962); and Oceanside, California (1967). The Army has insisted that the levels used in these tests were harmless. But various studies now suspect that cadmium in humans is a carcinogen that causes kidney damage and that can contribute to liver disorders, nervous system problems, and perhaps reproductive health problems.
Project 112 and SHAD were also series of actual tests conducted by the Department of Defense from 1962 through 1973, during the height of the Cold War. The individual tests were code-named—Autumn Gold, Flower Drum, Night Train, and Shady Grove were just a few. Sailors and soldiers had no clue that they had been exposed, or if they did know, they believed the aerosols were harmless simulants. In some cases VX nerve gas, Sarin nerve gas, and a variety of bacterium including E.coli were used as part of the biological and chemical tests.
It wasn’t until 2002 that some of the facts about Project 112 were made public. Why did it take so long? The DoD claimed that too much of the information needed to be kept classified. In the meantime, veterans experiencing illnesses related to their exposure were denied VA benefits and medical help. After all, how could they be sick from something that didn’t happen?
I have a deep admiration and respect for the men and women—and the dogs—who have served and continue to serve our country. They sacrifice much and risk their lives. They deserve to have their country take care of them. Which brings me to another hard fact that is touched on in Silent Creed.
Robby’s Law (H.R.5314) made it possible for military dogs to be adopted instead of euthanized when they are retired. Can you even imagine that that was acceptable for these four-legged heroes? That after they saved so many lives, their final reward of retirement meant death? Robby’s Law also allows for the dogs’ former handlers to be first in line to adopt them.
But here’s the catch—the military still does not guarantee transport of these dogs back to the United States. Right now the military says it’s too expensive and requires resources they simply don’t have, so oftentimes the cost for transport falls to the adopter. Currently there is a push for legislation in Congress that would change this and require that the military bring these dogs home first, then retire them and, when possible, reunite them with their handlers or offer them up to the long list of others who would gladly adopt them.
It’s amazing to me that we need legislation to do what should naturally be the right and just thing for these four-legged heroes. Yes, real life is stranger than fiction.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As with each of my novels, I have a whole lot of people to thank and acknowledge.
Thanks go to:
My friends and family who put up with my long absences and still manage to love me and keep me grounded: Patricia Kava, Marlene Haney, Sandy Rockwood, Amee Rief, Patti and Martin Bremmer, Patricia Sierra, Sharon Kator, Maricela and Jose Barajas, Patti El-Kachouti, Diane Prohaska, Annie Belatti, Nancy Tworek, Cari Conine, Lisa Munk, Luann Causey, Patti Carlin, and Dr. Elvira Rios.
My fellow authors and friends who make this business a bit less crazy: Sharon Car, Erica Spindler, and J.T. Ellison.
The experts who I know I can call or e-mail with the strangest questions and the oddest requests: Leigh Ann Retelsdorf, Melissa Connor, Gary Plank, and John Beck.
Ray Kunze, once again, for lending his name to Maggie O’Dell’s boss. And to set the record straight—the real Ray Kunze is a nice guy who would never send Maggie on wild goose ch
ases.
My pack depends on some amazing veterinarians, and now they’ve become friends as well as invaluable resources for writing this series. Special thanks to: Dr. Enita Larson and her crew at Tender Care Animal Hospital, and Dr. Tonya McIlnay and the team at Veterinary Eye Specialist of Nebraska.
Once again, an extra thank-you to Dr. Larson for allowing me to name my fictional veterinarian after her children, Avelyn Faye and Ayden Parker. We’ll continue to see Dr. Avelyn Parker in each of the Creed novels.
Thanks to my publicist, Megan Beatie at Megan Beatie Communications for finding new and creative ways to get my books in front of readers.
My publishing teams: Sara Minnich, Ivan Held, and Christine Ball at Putnam. And at Little Brown/Sphere: David Shelley, Catherine Burke, and Jade Chandler.
My agent, Scott Miller, and his colleague, Claire Roberts, at Trident Media Group.
Thanks also to the booksellers, book bloggers, and librarians for mentioning and recommending my novels.
A big thank you to all of my VIR Club members, Facebook friends, and faithful readers. With so many wonderful novels available, I’m honored that you continue to choose mine. Without you, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell my twisted tales.
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Alex Kava, Silent Creed
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