with Colonel Platt. So when he offered to call someone, she simply shook her head.
Colonel Platt had gone on to tell her a number of things. Some of them now a blur. He explained that the virus had not shown up in her blood…
She knew a little about these viruses. She knew that even if she didn't show any signs now, it didn't mean that it wasn't already in her system, lying dormant, silently waiting.
When Colonel Platt left, Maggie sat staring at the wall of glass, watching the monitors on the other side, listening to their hums and beeps. It all seemed unreal, something totally out of
She kept hearing Platt's explanation. He had afforded her too many details, probably thinking that her medical background provided her some sort of safety net of understanding. Knowledge did not necessarily always equal power or control. Instead, it sometimes had the opposite effect. Especially in this case where the more she understood about the virus, how absolutely powerful and unstoppable it was, the more vulnerable she began to feel.
Platt had left her with just enough details to keep her heart racing. And his questions ran on a loop through her brain:
'Did you touch Ms. Kellerman? Did you come in contact with any of her blood? Her bedsheets? Did you touch Mary Louise? Did she take your hand? Did her vomit get on your face? Your eyes? Your mouth?'
Maggie knew some of the little girl's vomit had splattered her jacket, but she didn't think it had gotten on her face. But Cunningham? Maggie remembered him wiping his face. He was holding Mary Louise when she threw up. Cunningham had taken the little girl to the bathroom to help her wash up, ordering Maggie to stay put.
And what about Mary Louise, that beautiful little girl, crawling onto her mother's bloody bedsheets, living amongst the ruins for how many days?
That's when Maggie remembered the line from the note: YOUR CHILDREN ARE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE AT ANY TIME.
The words fit his purpose just as Mary Louise and her mother did by sharing the same name and partial address as one of the victims in the Tylenol case. But Maggie knew these particular words were not his. She suspected they had been copied, too. He had pulled that line from somewhere else but where?
She went back to the computer. She sat down but hesitated. She ran her fingers through her hair and realized her hands were shaking. She sat and waited for them to settle, for the sudden nausea to pass, for the pounding in her head to quiet. None of it did. She needed to ignore the swelling panic, push it aside. She had done it before. She could do it again, at least long enough to retreat, to escape, to work.
She went back to Google, and with fingers still a bit unsteady she typed in the phrase, exactly as she remembered it:YOUR CHILDREN ARE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE AT ANY TIME.
Immediately her answer came up in a dozen different sites. She couldn't believe it. There on her computer screen, staring right back at her were the exact same words. They had also been used as a postscript on another note. Why hadn't she recognized it earlier?
There were other phrases, other duplicates:'I AM GOD' and 'CALL ME GOD.' Instead of 'MR. F.B.I. MAN' was a close substitute: 'FOR YOU MR. POLICE.'
And just as she suspected, the phrases had all been lifted from notes and messages of another killer, actually a pair of killers. They were phrases used by the Beltway Snipers, John Muhammad and Lee Malvo in October 2002.
CHAPTER
43
Platt would have preferred to put off talking to Janklow until Monday. The commander had put him in charge of this mission and yet he appeared to be watching over Platt's shoulder every step of the way. How else could he explain yet another message, another order this soon? Platt had barely checked in on his four patients and already the commander was summoning him to his office. He suspected McCathy probably alerted Janklow the minute he saw worms through the microscope, probably even before he had called Platt.
The commander's office door was left open, his secretary gone, reminding Platt that it was Saturday. He found Janklow in his office, standing at the window, looking out. Only then did Platt see that it was raining. The window framed a dreary gray day punctuated by gold and red splotches of swirling color. When had the leaves started to turn? In the last twenty-four hours he had lost all sense of time, of season.
'Colonel Platt.' Janklow glanced at him then back out the window, as if not quite ready.
'Yes, sir,' Platt said then simply waited.
He had been running on adrenaline for the last several hours. Janklow had the benefit of a night's sleep. Platt had been through this sort of thing with other superior officers. He expected Janklow to remind him that he had entrusted him with this very important mission and he was counting on him not just to take care of it but to take responsibility for it, as well. In other words make sure Platt understood that if and when something went wrong or leaked to the media, Platt alone would be the one to take the fall.
He kept his hands at his sides when instinct told him to dig the exhaustion out of his eyes. He wiped at his jaw to make sure there wasn't any leftover milk. He had convinced Mary Louise Kellerman to eat her breakfast only after making a special event of it, an event that included him joining her for Froot Loops.
Despite the glass wall separating them the little girl insisted they count out and eat all the yellow ones first. It had actually been a welcome reprieve—though a bit of a surreal one. One minute he was in a hot zone staring at twisted loops and ropes of virus, one of the deadliest viruses on earth, and the next minute he was eating Froot Loops with a five-year-old. He couldn't help thinking of Alice in Wonderland sitting down to tea with the Mad Hatter.
'So it's much worse,' Janklow said suddenly without turning or looking at Platt. A good thing. His voice startled Platt back to attention. Strange as it might be, he'd give anything to be back with Mary Louise, playing the Mad Hatter and eating cereal with milk than here explaining any of this to Janklow.
'Yes, sir,' he said. He figured Janklow was expecting a summary of Platt's strategy, so he started with the basics. ' We still have the Keller-man home contained and under guard.'
'Plainclothes guard?'
'Yes, sir. Construction crew with public-utility vehicles. CDC can handle contacting anyone who may have come in contact with the Kellermans. We can start administering the vaccine immediately. I ordered—'
'You haven't already contacted the CDC, have you?' Janklow spun all the way around to look at Platt.
'No, not yet.'
The commander nodded and placed his hands behind his back. Platt recognized the gesture as guarded satisfaction. Janklow walked to his desk in the middle of the room, hands still clasped at his lower back, chin tucked down on his chest. Platt knew to wait. Janklow would instruct him to continue when he was ready again.
'Right now these four people you have here in the Slammer are the only ones we know of who have been exposed.Is that correct?'Janklow asked.
'Yes, sir.'
'A mother, a child and two government employees, correct?'
'FBI Assistant Director Cunningham and one of his special agents.'
'I understand the mother is in the final stages?'
Platt hated to admit it but said, 'Yes, it looks that way. Her kidneys have begun to fail. We have her on —'
Janklow held up a hand to stop him. Platt hated the gesture but hesitated as ordered. 'She won't make it,' Janklow said as matter-of-factly as though they were talking about the stock market.'Isn't that correct?'
Platt had spent the night doing everything possible. As a doctor he wasn't ready to admit failure.
'Most likely that's correct,' he agreed. 'However, I have seen cases—'
The hand went up again. This time Platt had to stifle a frustrated sigh.
Janklow paced from his desk to the window, hands clasped, chin still resting on his chest, perhaps his own version of Rodin's
