Reckless Creed (15 page)

NEW YORK CITY

C
hristina stopped by the same shop where she'd bought her supplies yesterday. She figured her watchers might see it simply as a routine. Her note from them this morning told her that she was doing a good job. They suggested a couple of tourist attractions that she might want to visit. That was it.

Now that she had thought about all of the notes, she realized they were ambiguous enough that even if they were found, they would draw little attention. She imagined the watchers might come in and clean out her room before housekeeping. If she didn't return tonight they would probably already be letting themselves inside.

Still, she had left the
DO NOT
DISTURB
sign on the door. Her suitcase was on the bed. She left a half-eaten protein bar and a cup of coffee on the desk. The television was on along with a light on the nightstand. If they came in, perhaps they might think they had simply lost track of her and certainly she was somewhere in the hotel. After all, she'd never leave behind her personal belongings.

As Christina walked through the small shop's tight aisles she kept looking up over the display cases and out the window. She
could see the soldier on the other side of the street, sipping his coffee and reading what looked like a folded-up map. There was no way he could see the items she would be purchasing. Even the cash register at the front of the shop was tucked into a windowless corner.

And it would be impossible to see what she was choosing from the shelves. She picked out more cough syrup, tissues, and throat lozenges. She added a box of large Band-Aids, iodine, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a quaint artist tool kit that included Krazy Glue, a straight-edged ruler, scissors, and an X-Acto knife.

At the register in the glass display case under the counter she pointed at the final item she needed. The store clerk had already rung up everything else. She didn't want this item to be sitting on the counter any longer than necessary. She wanted it to go directly into her tote bag as soon as he scanned it.

There were only two models to choose from. In the past she would have bought the burner phone with the most prepaid minutes. It was the better deal even if you didn't think you needed that much time. But today she pointed at the phone with fewer minutes and told the clerk she'd like “two, please.”

She tried to steady her breathing before she walked back out the shop door and onto the street. She needed to carry on as if she'd just picked up a few supplies for a day of sightseeing and that there was nothing illicit in her bag. She had memorized the phone number she wanted to call and had practiced exactly what she wanted to say. She needed to find a place where she could do that without being seen or heard. But there was something else she needed to do first.

PENSACOLA, FLORIDA

C
reed left the Coffee Cup and took the Bay Bridge. Pelicans skimmed the water surface below. One flew alongside his Jeep. The sky was a gorgeous blue, the water so calm it was slick as glass. He let the three miles steady him, breathing in the salt air that seeped in through his open sunroof.

He drove through Gulf Breeze, taking his time, letting his mind formulate a plan. By the time he got to Pensacola Beach he knew what he had to do. He parked near the water tower and took off toward the beach, taking only his cell phone.

First he called Hannah and ran his idea by her as he walked along the beach with his jeans rolled up and his shoes off, his toes enjoying the warm sand. The swish of the waves calmed him. He walked some more and ended up on the beach side of Walter's Canteen. He found an outdoor table with some privacy and ordered lunch.

Then he called Penelope Clemence.

He had relied on her countless times in the past to help him choose rescue dogs. She had an eye for those that were trainable
and he'd learned to appreciate her expertise. More importantly, she saved him the gut-wrenching trips he'd otherwise need to make to the shelters where he knew he'd never be able to leave without bringing home dozens.

Though they had been working together for several years, Creed knew little about the woman. Hannah insisted that Clemence was a philanthropist who had chosen to spend her valuable time and wealth helping dogs at kill shelters find homes. Whenever Creed got together with the woman she looked nothing like a wealthy matron. She drove a beat-up Jeep Wrangler with thick off-road tires and a broken front grille that she didn't bother replacing. Usually she wore jeans—not any jeans, but threadbare, often with the knees ripped. Her hiking boots always looked like they had seen better days. But her fingernails were always manicured and her short hair cut and styled in what Hannah called “chic.” Not like Creed would know.

Bottom line, he liked the woman. And more importantly, he trusted her. She had great instincts about a dog's personality and temperament, and sometimes she could talk him into taking a dog he might otherwise have reservations about. He knew her intentions were always to save one more dog, and he couldn't argue with that. But she also knew that detection dogs needed to be sociable as well as physically resilient.

“I need a dozen trainable dogs by tomorrow,” he told her.

“Oh, sweetie, you just made my day,” she said in a southern drawl that seemed to emphasize her excitement. “Any preferences? Any particular traits I need to look for?”

“Kill list gets top priority.”

“You are a man after my heart.”

“Penelope, what would it take to make Alpaloose Animal Shelter a no-kill shelter? How much?”

“It'd take millions to sustain it. Believe me, Ryder, if I had the money . . .”

“I'm not talking about you. Just humor me.”

“To put in place education programs for people to—”

“I'm talking about adopting out dogs to other parts of the country. There're organizations that already do that sort of thing, right?”

“Of course, but it's expensive. You have to find transportation. It's a massive process that involves lots of volunteers and enough donors to keep it going.”

“Could you put together some figures for me? Just an estimate of what it would cost to turn Alpaloose into one of those?”

“Oh, Ryder, sweetie. Don't you think I've already tried to do that? There's just not a large enough donor base in this area.”

“Get me a cost analysis. Just a ballpark.”

“I have some figures I put together a couple of years ago. I'll look over it and send you an estimate.”

“Can you get it to me later today?”

“Actually, I can get it to you as soon as I have a chance to pull up my old file.” Then she paused. “What are you up to?”

“I'll let you know if it works.”

—

About twenty minutes later Creed had the e-mail with more details than he needed and an estimated cost. He called Wurth and was surprised that the deputy director answered on the third ring.

“The risk versus the reward isn't worth training these dogs for
a onetime assignment,” he told Wurth. “Nor is it worth training them just for this virus. If these dogs survive, we'll want to train them to be multitask dogs.”

“I'm listening.”

“I know DHS currently has a budget this year of $150 million to train one thousand dogs, and you're already going to come up short about two hundred and fifty dogs.”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Hannah and I already have a contract with your department. I'd like to expand it and talk long-term.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

“In addition to what we're already doing, I'll provide you with five dogs and handlers for this initial test run. Within a year we'll add ten more. I'll procure and train twenty each year after. I want a ten-year contract to start, with a percentage of the money front-loaded.”

“And how much is this going to cost me?”

Creed gave him the figure. Wurth whistled his response.

“Don't forget I already know how much you're paying for dogs, and some of those you're having to bring in from Europe.”

“Yes, but this is a lot of money for a bunch of mutts.”

“With my dogs you're paying a premium for my training. We'll also do a program to train your designated handlers. I know the government wastes more than this amount on vaccines that don't work. You can spend three times that amount for more TSA personnel at your airports and you still won't be able to identify and stop infected people.

“Think about it, Wurth. DHS is already paying more than this for bomb detection dogs. Now you'll have a team that will be able
to detect dangerous viruses—we can add others to the bird flu. There's already talk about adding dogs for detection not only at airports, but in stadiums and shopping malls, at campaign rallies, open-air concerts. And the best part—they'll never hound you for a raise or extra benefits.”

“And if a canine has a false alert, I'll have a major lawsuit on my hands.”

“Seriously? That's what you're concerned about? How many of your TSA agents have erroneously taken someone aside? How many times have they missed someone coming in with a deadly virus? We know they already missed Tony Briggs twice.”

That silenced Wurth.

“You know, I'm told there's an app that can detect cancer. Hell, maybe I just need to invest in that technology.”

“Go ahead. I guarantee it's not ever going to be as effective as a dog.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My dogs' batteries last longer and they can track without depending on a cell tower or a satellite signal. One thing's for sure—no app is going to help you in seventy-two hours.”

“Why do I get the idea you just want to save a shelter full of mutts that are waiting to be put down?”

“Damn straight, and what's wrong with that? There's one other thing I want as a bonus immediately if we're successful in meeting this first deadline.”

He told Wurth what it was and why he wanted it. To Creed's surprise the DHS deputy director didn't argue.

“That's the deal, Wurth. Let me know what you decide.” And Creed ended the call.

Less than fifteen minutes later Charlie Wurth called and said he'd e-mail over a contract by the end of the day.

Creed should have felt a sense of victory. Instead he couldn't stop thinking that he might have condemned these dogs to a miserable death if they ended up infected with this virus.

NEW YORK CITY

E
verywhere Christina went she saw the soldier. Twice he disappeared from sight and she thought he might be gone. Or that someone else was taking over for him and she'd need to find the new watcher. But he was never gone for more than a few minutes.

Usually he didn't follow her into any of the buildings. Instead he stayed on the sidewalk, across the street. Just when she convinced herself that she was out of his view and safe as long as she stayed inside, he proved her wrong. When she stayed too long in a café, where she sat with a cup of tea and a half-eaten sandwich, he came in. He looked impatient as he made his way to the restrooms. His movements were almost robotic as his head pivoted from side to side. When he came back out he took a different path, bringing him close enough to her table for him to check on her.

She could feel his eyes sweeping over her and the entire booth despite the sunglasses that he kept on. She avoided looking at him, but her hand trembled as she raised the cup to her lips.

The place was busy and noisy but the booth made her feel like
she was in her own little world. At least until he came back. Surely that wouldn't be within the next few minutes.

She dug out one of the burner phones. She had to do this now while she still had the nerve. While her mind was functioning. The fever was worse today. She had doubled up on the Tylenol and the vitamin C and yet she still felt a bit muddled.

She tapped the phone number in from memory and smashed the phone against the side of her face, hoping she could hear and praying that she wouldn't need to speak too loud. She expected to get a voice telling her to leave a message. She had prepared what she was going to say. Even now, it went around in her head like a recording on a loop.

“This is Amee Rief,” a voice said.

Christina waited for instructions to leave a message, but they didn't come.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“I'm sorry, did you say you were Amee Rief?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“The U.S. Fish and Wildlife biologist?”

“Yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

She waited too long. She was afraid Rief would hang up on her and then not take her call.

“Excuse me, ma'am, is there something you needed?”

What she needed was to find her voice. She needed to remember the message she had wanted to get to Rief. She had her on the phone. She was speaking to her directly. This was even better. If only she could speak.

“Look, unless you tell me what this is about, I'm hanging up now.”

“No, please, don't do that.” Panic pushed aside her confidence.

Oh God!
She didn't mean to sound desperate, and yet that was exactly how she was sounding.

“I need your help. Only you. No one else. Please just listen. I'm sick. They infected me.” She swallowed hard and felt a coughing fit coming on.

No, please not now.

She ripped the wrapper off a lozenge and popped it into her mouth.

“What's your name?”

“My name? That's . . . that's not important.”

“Yes, it is. If you expect me to listen to you, to trust you, I need your name.”

She hesitated. Was it a trap? No, she had chosen to trust this woman. She couldn't stop now.

“It's Christina. Christina Lomax.”

“Why do you believe someone infected you, Christina?”

“Because they told me they did.” Suddenly she realized she hadn't checked outside. Had it been seconds or a minute? Her eyes darted over the top of the booth. She couldn't see the soldier. In a whisper, she said, “They're paying me to walk around New York and give it to others.”

“Who exactly do you think infected you?” Rief asked, and Christina couldn't help thinking that the biologist sounded skeptical.

“Whoever infected those birds in Nebraska.”

There was silence on the other end.

Christina's eyes darted from the street to the door and back again.

“Please just listen. I'm not crazy. I don't have much time.”

Then she tried to explain about the flash drive. About the man giving it to her and telling her to make sure it would be found on her body. She was interrupted by another coughing fit and once by a waiter. No one else seemed interested in her conversation, but she continued in bouts of whispers and a low voice.

Finally she told the biologist that she would give the flash drive to her, but only her.

Then she told her that it had to be today. It had to be this evening, because tomorrow at this time she might already be dead.