CHAPTER 49

Platt answered his phone, still focused on the bit of metal inside the plastic bag.

“Colonel Platt, this is Captain Ganz.”

Platt stopped. “Captain Ganz.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say to the man. Fortunately he didn’t have to reply.

“I owe you an apology, Colonel.”

Silence. Perhaps he wanted it to sink in.

“You found something?”

“The other two soldiers who died last week also show traces of Clostridium sordellii. We’ve started testing the other patients. So far, nine out of ten have the bacterium. We’re still not quite sure where or how it got into their bodies, but you must be right. It has to be through the bone grafts or bone paste. Right now I need to save these soldiers.”

More silence. Platt waited it out.

“Ben, I’ve been a jackass in the way I treated you. If you haven’t left Pensacola yet, would you consider coming back and giving me a hand?”

Platt didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“This hurricane won’t be a party. We have generators but not for everything.”

“I understand.”

“And we don’t have the antibiotics we need.”

“This isn’t your ordinary bacterium.”

“Tell me where you are and I’ll have my driver pick you up.”

“He can pick me up at the Hilton. Have him ring me twice when he gets here and I’ll meet him in the lobby.”

Platt got off the phone just as Maggie returned.

“You’re leaving. Going back.” She said it with no hint of surprise.

“Yes. Sometimes there’s no pleasure in being right.”

“You got that right,” Wurth said, getting up, ready to leave.

“I’m going to stay on the beach this morning,” Maggie told Wurth.

“That’s not a good idea.” He looked at Platt. “Tell her that’s not a good idea.”

Platt shrugged. “What makes you think she’ll listen to me?”

“They’ll be closing Bob Sykes Bridge,” Wurth told her, “and the Navarre Bridge at one o’clock. There’s no other way off Pensacola Beach.”

“It’s okay. Liz Bailey promised I’d have a way off.”

“And what, might I ask, is it you hope to accomplish by staying?”

“Come on, Charlie, you brought me down here for a case. You can’t blame me for wanting to do some footwork.”

“Speaking of foot”—Platt held out the plastic bag with the metal bit—“I think I know what this is. It’s shrapnel.”

Maggie took the bag and looked at it again. “As in shrapnel from an explosive?”

He nodded. “I’ve removed my share of this stuff from soldiers in Afghanistan. I’ve been staring at this piece for the last hour trying to figure out how it ended up in a severed foot found in the Gulf of Mexico.”