Monday, October 1, 2007

Platt drove Maggie home, a sixty-minute trip in the wee small hours of the morning. Under the cover of darkness. It felt like a covert mission, more drama than necessary. Yet he kept an eye on the rearview mirror, his heart tripping into overdrive whenever car lights followed one too many of his turns. Each time it ended up being nothing. The cars eventually turned another direction or passed. He was being paranoid.

Earlier he had authorized a shipment of vaccine to be airlifted directly to Bix in Chicago. The CDC had faxed Platt the official request. As the head of this mission Platt had the authority to respond. In the process he discovered that Janklow had already approved a much smaller shipment but with orders that it be released only to the director of Homeland Security. Not the CDC. Red tape? Personal grudge? Platt didn’t care to know. His best guess was that Janklow was maintaining political correctness despite the clock ticking on a potential epidemic.

Platt was also quick to notice that nowhere in Janklow’s orders for the release of vaccine to Homeland Security was there an acknowledgment of the four victims already at USAMRIID. It would have been the perfect opportunity now that both Homeland Security and the CDC were involved. But Janklow was still covering up his own backyard. As for McCathy, Platt wasn’t sure if or how he was involved. There would be time to confront both of them but only after he made sure the four victims under his watch were safe and secure.

Platt couldn’t ethically release Assistant Director Cunningham, Ms. Kellerman or Mary Louise. Each needed the specialized medical care of USAMRIID along with the daily dosage of the vaccine. Agent O’Dell, however, needed only the vaccine at this time. If she ended up being the lone survivor, what would Janklow do with her? Platt would rather make that decision than leave it to Janklow.

Platt glanced at Maggie’s silhouette, highlighted only by the green dashboard lights. She was different here alongside him without the barrier of glass. She had been quiet after seeing Cunningham. Yet she didn’t look as vulnerable back in her street clothes. As a temporary replacement to the purple jacket she’d had to leave behind, Platt had offered her his William and Mary sweatshirt to ward off the night chill. She had hesitated at first, giving the gesture more meaning than necessary. He wondered if Maggie O’Dell simply wasn’t used to someone looking out for her.

“It doesn’t mean we’re going steady or anything,” he had joked, expecting one of her witty comebacks.

She’d simply said, “Thank you,” and slipped it on.

After they were on the road and safely away from USAMRIID, she said, “You’re worried the Ebola this guy is sending may have come from your own labs?”

He glanced at her, again, not sure why he was surprised that she would cut immediately to the chase. She had done so throughout their conversations.

“It’s crossed my mind.”

Platt wasn’t sure how much of his suspicions he should share. He might already be on the verge of getting court-martialed despite all his efforts to do the right thing.

“He’s someone with a bruised ego,” she said. “He may have worked on some high-profile cases and never been acknowledged. Someone intent on retribution, on doling out a perverted sense of justice. Does that sound like anyone you know?”

“Maybe,” Platt said, though he thought immediately of Michael McCathy.

Instead of pressing the matter, she said, “The outbreak in Chicago, do they know how it started?”

“A Chicago accountant named Markus Schroder was there for tests. They had no idea what was wrong with him. Ended up doing exploratory surgery.”

“Any idea if he received a package in the mail?”

“I asked Bix. He’s the CDC guy. He’s going to check.”

“Markus Schroder,” she said and stared off into the dark countryside.

“You think the name means something? Like with the Kellermans?”

“Possibly. Chicago can’t be a coincidence. It was Chicago where the Tylenol murders took place. There has to be some connection. I can tell you this much. If Markus Schroder received a similar package he wasn’t a random victim.”

“You always look for logic even within the madness?”

He could feel her eyes on him now, studying him to see if he was serious. He kept his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’d be convenient to believe people who commit these types of crimes are simply mad. That there’s a neuron or two misfiring inside their brains.”

“If they’re not mad, not crazy, what then?”

She hesitated but only briefly before she calmly and quietly said, “They’re evil.”