by Julie Rowe
Why did he dislike the CDC so much?
Gunner raised an eyebrow. That’s right, asshole, I know how you really feel.
Ketner dropped the mask hiding his antagonistic expression before sliding it on again as he turned to speak quietly to his supervisor.
Gunner glanced at Joy, who rolled her eyes. She’d seen the look Ketner had given him.
Not much either of them could do about the FBI agent. Fixing stupid was beyond their capacity.
MacDougall pulled a dolly with a keg of beer on it. One with an all too familiar logo on it.
More positive results.
A low growl went through the room after they announced that. Both Dozer and Ketner were on their phones talking to unknown persons.
“Are we at a dead end?” Joy asked Gunner softly as they observed the various law enforcement officers, agents, and supervisors in the room. Everyone stood, either talking with each other or on the phone, looking as if they were all in charge of the investigation.
Not sure how many of them realized none of them were in charge.
Dozer finished his phone call, pocketed his phone, then walked over to them. “The FBI has finished sifting through everything on that stick, Creek’s phone, and all the other evidence. We’re reasonably sure there’s still one keg still out there, unaccounted for.”
“How sure is reasonably sure?” Gunner asked.
“Ninety-five percent sure.”
“And that other five percent?”
“Multiple kegs still on the loose.”
“No chance we got them all?”
Dozer shook his head. “Mike Creek offered a deal for his cooperation. Thing is, after we showed him all the places where we found kegs, he kept giggling.” Dozer rolled his eyes. “You know, like some twelve-year-old who hid a dead frog somewhere in your house. You know it’s there, but you don’t know where. He refused to say if there were any more kegs, but that guy looked way too happy with the list of kegs we’ve picked up.”
“He could be just fucking with us,” Gunner suggested.
“That’s a given,” Dozer said. “Still…”
“We can’t assume we got them all.”
“No.”
Joy checked her watch. “Shit, spring break parties are only a few hours away from starting.”
“Even if we mobilized every cop in the city, we’d never find it in time,” Gunner growled.
“A location to location search would never work,” Dozer agreed. “We need to narrow the list of possible targets.”
“So far, the kegs have gone to frat houses, bars, and specialty beer stores,” Joy said. “Who is Creek targeting?”
“Young people. College-aged students,” Dozer suggested.
“What’s the message he’s is trying to convey?” Gunner asked. “Is he trying to punish someone?”
“He doesn’t know any of the victims personally,” Dozer said. “We looked for connections between him and the first few cases. Nothing.”
“So, his victims could be standing in for the person or people he really wants to hurt,” Joy said.
“His brother?” Gunner asked.
“He’d have sent that beer to bars that cater to off duty military personnel,” Dozer said with a shake of his head.
“He sent it frat parties,” Joy said slowly. “Didn’t Frank say something about him being close to washing out of college?”
“He did,” Gunner said.
“He’s attempting to destroy the thing that broke him. College.” Dozer smiled a little. “You know, you two would make half decent profilers.”
“We already have jobs,” Gunner said. “But thanks for the offer.”
Ketner approached them. “No new information. We’re at a standstill. What about all of you?”
“Same,” Dozer said.
Ketner’s sour expression had a sweet side to it, and it creeped Joy out.
“My people have suggested we wait until someone gets sick,” he said, looking almost happy about it.
“Your suggestion is to use every person under the age of twenty-five as the proverbial canary in a coal mine?” Joy demanded.
Ketner looked at her like she’d asked a stupid question. “Yes.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wednesday 2:30 p.m.
Gunner found it difficult to control his utter distaste for the FBI agent. If he let how he felt show on his face, the guy was going to pull out his gun to ward Gunner off.
“By the time the sick hits our radar,” Gunner said, unable to keep the snarl out of his voice, “it will be too late. The infected will have moved locations or gotten onto airplanes to go home, taking the bacteria with them. We’ll end up with outbreaks at universities all over the United States. It will take us months or longer to track it all down and clean it up. It will cost millions of dollars and many lives.” He flashed his teeth at the agent. “I, for one, will be happy to inform the families of the deceased that you and the FBI are the reason their son or daughter is dead.”
“What do you suggest then, Dr. Anderson?” Ketner said, his jaw muscles working.
“I have an idea,” Joy said, staring at her phone.
Everyone turned to look at her.
She held up the cell phone, displaying a photo on the screen.
Gunner leaned closer, trying to make out the picture. It looked vaguely familiar. “What is that?”
“It’s a photo from the first scene we attended at the beginning of this outbreak. Someone who was at that party took some pictures before we got there and posted them to Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. It’s already been shared thousands of times.”
“Stupid kids,” Ketner said dismissively.
Dozer had the opposite reaction. He stared at Joy’s phone with greed in his gaze. “You want us to post warnings about the beer on social media?” Dozer asked. “We’ve already put out a recall on the beer on the news channels and websites with a carefully crafted message designed to encourage people to cooperate. If we show them how bad things could get—”
“It could start a public panic we’d be unable to control,” Ketner said flatly.
“But, a viral campaign would reach the target audience of this biological weapon,” Gunner said. “And it would do it fast.”
“We’re already doing that,” Ketner countered.
“College-aged people don’t hangout on CNN or the New York Times’ websites,” Joy snorted. “Even if they saw your carefully crafted news report, they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. They’d see it as just another media-fueled report about a problem that doesn’t affect them. We need to talk to them in their own language, on their preferred vehicles of communication.” Joy sounded cautiously optimistic by the end of her sentence. An optimism they needed right now in large doses.
“You might be right,” Ketner said with a shrug. “But I’m not the person you have to convince, and I don’t believe you’ll get permission from my supervisor, or his.” He pointed at Dozer.
Disbelief and frustration squashed the endorphins that had, for a moment, given him hope they could do something positive.
“You are a joyless person,” Gunner said to Ketner. “Absolutely gloomy. How about you stick your shitty attitude up your ass and leave it there?” As soon as the words were out, he knew they were a mistake, but damn it, the man was as exciting as a wet noodle.
“You think sharing the fact on multiple social media channels that there’s at least one keg of really bad beer on the loose in New Orleans during spring break is a good idea?” Ketner took a step closer to both Joy and him and shook a finger at them. “You’ll make the CDC look like a bunch of fools while inciting panic in the public. It will create chaos and make a bad situation worse.”
“Offer another solution that will save more lives,” Joy said, her words a challenge. “Because that’s what’s at stake. Lives.”
“If we do nothing and just wait for someone to get sick or die,” Gunner added, “we’re guaranteed to lose people.
A lot of people. Potentially hundreds of people. I would rather do everything in my power to warn people about the beer, ask them to look for the beer, and report seeing the beer. We might get lucky and find it before anyone else has to die.”
Ketner crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Dozer. “Do you think this plan of theirs is going to fly?”
Dozer shrugged. “Like you said, it doesn’t matter what I think, but I know I’m going to suggest it to my boss and pray he says yes.”
Ketner stared at Dozer with a snarl on his face.
Dozer pulled out his cell phone then looked at Ketner. “Are you going to be the only one not running this idea past his superiors?”
Gunner got his phone out and dialed Rodrigues while Dozer called someone at his office. Ketner graced them all with a sneer, turned on his heel, and left.
“Good riddance,” Joy muttered. “I hope he stays away.”
“Probably not,” Dozer said just before he greeted whoever answered his phone call.
Rodrigues answered a second or two later, and Gunner was occupied with explaining their situation and what they wanted to do. He hoped Joy was eavesdropping on the other conversation. He wanted to know what Dozer was saying.
Ketner’s attitude more than bothered Gunner, it worried him. The guy’s reactions were all wrong. He wasn’t keeping the correct big picture in mind. He had another picture in his number one priority spot, and it only partially included keeping the public safe.
Gunner just couldn’t figure out what that picture was.
It was driving him crazy.
Rodrigues was silent after Gunner stopped talking, and he let the air grow stale, then dead before asking respectfully, “Ma’am? How would you like us to proceed?”
“I need to consult with my counterparts at Homeland Security and the FBI before any decisions are made.” She paused. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Breakfast.” Which, he realized, had been a long time ago.
“Grab a cup of coffee and a high-protein meal. I’ll call as soon as a coordinated course of action has been decided upon.” Rodrigues hung up.
Dozer’s call took a few seconds longer. He looked from Gunner’s face to Joy’s. “Did I hear something about food?”
“It’s good for the brain,” Gunner said.
“Oh, yeah?” Dozer looked contemplative. “In that case, we should all eat some.”
“Some of us more than others,” Joy said under her breath.
Gunner managed not to chuckle, but it was hard.
The hospital cafeteria was about half full of people, staff, patients, and visitors. Dozer, Joy, and Gunner filled their plates and ate with similar single-minded attention.
Gunner looked at his empty plate. “I’m still hungry.”
“They were making beignets,” Dozer said.
“Do you think they’re any good here?”
“Don’t have a clue.”
“I’m willing to risk it,” Gunner said, and got up to do just that.
The server behind the counter gave him a piece to test and, holy shit, it was good. Gunner got enough for himself, Joy, Dozer and began to make his way back to their table.
Ketner stood next to the table, towering over Joy. He was saying something to her and her face, a flat, cold expression on it, made him speed up.
He arrived at the table just in time to see her bare her teeth at him and say, “A different team isn’t going to change much. I’m not sure what you think you’re going to gain, but we have an integrated communication system. Every piece of information, results from the lab, our field tests, names, addresses, everything is shared in real time with every member of the task force.”
Ketner’s smile dimmed only a little.
Joy was practically vibrating with irritation. Gunner looked at the agent and managed to maintain an even tone to ask, “What did you say to upset my partner?”
Ketner turned to him with a mock smile on his face. “I complimented you two on your idea of using social media. I agree. The benefits of warning the public outweigh the risks.”
“You left out the part where we get sent home,” Joy said, sitting back in her chair. She shook her head. “I don’t get it. You’ve been treating us like crap since we met. What’s with that?”
“You’re doctors and nurses, not law enforcement. You don’t have the right training.” He focused his gaze on Joy. “You’re armed, but I have no idea how you’re going to react if someone pulls a gun or drops a bomb.”
“Calmly,” Dozer put in. “Like a ten year veteran from any agency you’d care to name.”
Gunner glanced at Dozer, who arched an eyebrow. “I’m on the fence with this decision. I think you need to get off that leg, Gunner, but I also think you and Joy have done a stellar job on this case. We’re down to one missing keg.”
“Wait,” Gunner said, looking from one man to the other. “All of us were told to get along earlier today, because we’re all you’ve got.”
“As of ten minutes ago, the CDC has another team available,” Ketner drawled. “They’re on their way here.”
“That’s not—” Gunner grabbed his phone and found a short series of messages from Rodrigues informing him that a team was coming to help. Not take over the investigation, but help.
He gave Ketner a tight smile. “According to the information Dr. Rodrigues sent me, they’re coming to help, not take over.”
Ketner shrugged. “You three look like you’ve been in an active war zone. For your own safety, as well as the safety of the rest of the people working this investigation, take yourselves off the active roster, get medical help, and go home.” He turned and strolled out of the cafeteria.
Dozer got up a couple of seconds later. “I’m going to try and figure out what’s been happening behind my back.” He gave Gunner and Joy a tight smile. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything interesting.” He walked away, his phone by his ear.
Joy pulled out her cell and made a call. Her hands were shaking. Yes, it had been a good idea to give her something to hold onto.
She didn’t put the phone on speaker, but he could still hear Rodrigues answer.
“Ma’am, is there another team coming to New Orleans to take over our investigation?”
“Henry is coming with one of the other lab techs…to help,” she said, her voice curt with impatience. “However, you may be told to take some time off for medical treatment and rest. You’ve both logged a lot of work hours and injuries, but not enough sleep.”
Gunner frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that.
Before he could speak, Rodrigues continued, “We’re at a standstill until we can find that last keg, or people start showing up at hospitals, sick. Henry will assess you, and you’ll follow his instructions. Understood?”
“Ma’am,” Joy began. “About using social media—”
Their boss cut her off. “Good suggestion. We moving forward on that right now. Just sit tight and wait for Henry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you in a few hours.”
Joy put her phone away. “What do you think Henry is going to say?” she asked slowly.
Gunner looked at her then himself, the heat of rage draining out of him almost as fast as it arrived, leaving his muscles even more tired and sore than before. His leg throbbed in time with his pulse. “I think we’re homeward bound.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Not your fault,” Gunner told her, fighting to keep the cold from taking over. “This whole investigation has been odd from the beginning. We’re missing something.”
“What?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you to shoot it.”
“Could I stomp on it instead?” she asked with a rusty-sounding voice. “What do we do now?”
“Wait here for Henry.” He took another bite of his beignet and settled back in his plastic chair. “Try one, they’re good.”
She took one and bit into it.
“You know what hurts the most?” she asked, looking at her coffee cup. “The disrespect. I’ve fought for, rescued, and resuscitated so many men and women in uniform. I understood how soldiers work, why they do the things they do and say what they say, but these people”—she waved her hand in the direction Rawley went—“they’re in law enforcement. They shouldn’t be so different, but I don’t understand them.”
“It’s the fucking politics.”
“Politics?”
“Different agencies fighting over jurisdiction, recognition, and funding. They all want to be top dog, and their people have the same mindset.”
“Politics isn’t supposed to be part of our job, or the job of a run-of-the-mill Homeland agent’s, or an FBI agent’s…is it?”
“I didn’t think so, but they obviously have different priorities than we do.”
“It fucking sucks,” she said, her tone resigned.
“Yup.”
“So, now we just sit here until Henry arrives?” she asked. She turned to look at Gunner suddenly, a smile smoothing out the frown lines on her face. “I can’t wait to see his reaction to Ketner’s attitude. He hates to leave the lab on the best of days.”
If Gunner was grumpy, Henry was an angry rage monster. It might be fun to watch him rip Ketner to verbal shreds for forcing him out of the lab—his home away from home—to deal with agents who had no respect for anyone other than themselves.
“Shall we head back to our cozy room in the basement and make sure everything is squared away before Henry gets here?”
“Yeah. If we leave him a mess, he’ll do something worse in revenge.”
Gunner got to his feet, picked up his food garbage, took one step then another step. His leg gave way, and he crashed to the floor.
“Gunner?” Joy rushed to his side. “Are you okay?”
He turned onto his back before she could touch him and stared up at the ceiling. He had no trouble seeing three-quarters of the people in the cafeteria come running in his peripheral vision.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
A couple of people knelt next to him and began doing a standard first aid assessment.
