Authors: Phoenix Sullivan
Instead, he looked Mr. Spalding dead in the eye. “You’re right.
All hell’s about to break loose around here.
You have 24, maybe 48, hours before it does. I don’t know what you need to do to get your business affairs in order, but you better start now. You, your distributor, the other suppliers — you’ll all be media targets. You won’t be able to hide the number of dead or diseased animals you’ve had in the last few weeks, but you better be prepared to show that any milk shipped to market didn’t come from any of them. It won’t help in the long term — probably nothing will — but short term the people who do business with you will appreciate your efforts.”
Mr. Spalding’s expression didn’t change. Only a slow nodding of his head indicated he’d heard.
Donna was glad he wasn’t an overly emotional man. Though his calm resignation was eerie in its own right, it was still infinitely better than having him strike out at those around him or weep or curse, if only because a more emotional response would surely draw a like reaction from her. Tomboy background notwithstanding, estrogen still ruled her emotions. “When you make a decision about the cows, have Dan give me a call,” she said.
Mr. Spalding’s expression did change then. His mouth drew tighter and his eyes widened as he focused on her. “Dan’s been in the hospital since last Saturday. A stroke, they think.” A shadow passed over his face. “With any luck, he won’t remember any of this. Or even care.”
In other circumstances, Donna would have been appropriately shocked at the sentiment. But these weren’t other circumstances, and Donna knew Mr. Spalding and Dan both, and could appreciate not only that the remark was made in kindness but that the Dan she’d known would approve of it. She nodded. “Then you call me if I can help, whatever you decide.”
“One way or another, you’ll hear from me before the end of the day.” He tipped his hat once toward each of them — “Dr. Bailey, Mr. Shafer” — before turning and walking away.
Mike drew a deep breath,
then
let it out noisily, his cheeks billowing with the pressure. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t want to do field work for a living.” He slumped against the SUV. “Who’s Dan?”
The question surprised Donna, who’d expected Mike to focus on the cattle or the business or something
more large
picture. That he was interested in more personal details impressed her. “He’s Mr. Spalding’s foreman.”
“You heard what he said about the stroke? It fits. Ranchers in close contact with affected stock are turning up in the hospitals as stroke patients. There’s a correlation, I’m sure.”
“You don’t think it was a stroke?”
“I think it’s the same thing the kids have and what these cows have. Hospital personnel are just more likely to see it as a stroke because of the age and the symptoms. When your ER is packed with patients you don’t look for exotic diseases when a perfectly good explanation is staring you in the face.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.
Me too.”
“What’s next?”
“We could keep spreading joy at more dairy farms, or there’s a business around here that deals with wild animals of some kind. I’d like to see if they’re having the same problems. Triple E Enterprises — have you been out there?”
Donna laughed low. “I don’t know anyone who has. They won’t even return my calls. One of the ranchers found the remains of a white tiger a couple of weeks ago and I can’t find anyone to claim it. Thought it could be theirs, but if they have permits — and the sheriff told me they do — I don’t know why they wouldn’t just say it was one of theirs if it was.
Unless they’re afraid of a lawsuit.”
“Meaning —?”
“We think it killed a few calves before it died. But the ranchers can write off the losses. I don’t think anyone around here would press charges. Triple E’s been there nearly ten years and no one’s had any trouble with them before. But really, all I know about them is that they have permits for holding exotics. Could be they’re ranching wildebeests as an alternative to beef and don’t have any predators out there at all. But I have been told there’s a lot of security around the place. I don’t know how much luck you’ll have getting in.”
“I can always try this.” He flipped his wallet open to his ID card and, in his best G-man imitation, intoned, “Shafer. CDC. We
have
a few questions for you.”
Donna laughed. Mike looked hurt. “Your ID’s upside down.”
“Damn. How do the real guys get it right all the time?” He motioned down the drive with exaggerated flair. “If you know the way, I’ll follow.”
DONNA HAD NEVER TURNED west on 114A off of 68 before.
The dark black asphalt road stood out among the many other side roads that were dirt or gravel. She suspected the road was privately maintained as the long run of it — nearly eight miles — up to where it forked off was whisper smooth and rut free. From the fork the road to the north turned into the more typical gravel-topped lane that could chew a new set of tires up in less than a year. Donna followed the fork to the southwest where the same smooth rubber-friendly asphalt ran through the hills and hollows. At one point, she caught a glimpse of a tall stockade fence,
then
shortly after that thick stands of bur oaks and junipers appeared, crowding along either side of the road and effectively limiting vision to the roadway ahead and behind.
At last, about three miles from the fork, the road widened into a lot with a gatehouse, a rolling gate that looked like it could stop a semi and enough turnaround space to encourage people who didn’t belong to do just that. As Donna slowed, the guard on duty emerged from the gatehouse, his phone in one hand, the other hand palm out in an authoritative yet not unfriendly suggestion to stop. Considering the option — ramming into the steel-barred gate ahead — the guard’s approach seemed overkill.
The guard, dressed in comfortable jeans and boots with an ID badge hanging from the pocket of a plaid shirt, touched the brim of his cowboy hat and tipped his head her way. “Ma’am, this is private property. Do you have an appointment?” Donna didn’t miss the guard’s gaze as it slid behind her to where Mike was pulling up at her bumper. The guard wasn’t armed that she could see but she suspected there was a camera on her and that, by the way he held the phone, reinforcements weren’t far away.
Donna leaned out the window and called back to Mike, “He wants to know if we have an appointment.”
Mike was already sliding out of the SUV and reaching into his pocket. The guard stiffened and his thumb covered a red button on the phone. When Mike’s wallet appeared, the guard relaxed but his thumb didn’t waver.
“We don’t have an appointment but we’d like one,” Mike said, flipping his wallet open in the guard’s direction. He cocked an eyebrow toward Donna. She squinted at his credentials to be sure they were right side up, then smiled and gave a quick nod behind the guard’s back.
“Do you have a warrant, sir?” the guard asked.
“No. Just some questions for your boss.”
“Wait here. I’ll see if there’s someone available.” The man stepped back into the small guard house with its black plate window.
Well aware there was likely surveillance equipment on them, they stayed where they were, Mike drumming his fingers along the back end of Donna’s truck while they waited.
After a couple of minutes, Donna heard the guttural strokes of a 4-wheeler approaching the other side of the gate as the gate itself started to slide open. The guard stepped back out. “If you’ll follow the escort, she’ll show you where to park and take you to the reception area. You’ll be meeting with Ms. Helen Marsh. She’s the director of marketing and press relations.”
Donna and Mike exchanged surprised glances. For all the buildup, being invited in on the merit of a CDC badge alone seemed too easy.
Past the gate a manicured lawn sprawled toward a group of single-story red brick buildings at the end of the drive. To either side, impressive stockade fences that reminded Donna of the forts she’d seen in movies rose a good twelve feet high. She thought she’d been kidding about the wildebeest theory, but after seeing the fences she decided she might actually be on to something.
She and Mike parked in front of the first of the buildings. Their escort, a young woman in khaki pants and navy shirt, simply said, “Follow me, please,” and led them to a walnut-appointed foyer where they were pointed to leather chairs. “Ms. Marsh will be just a moment.” The escort disappeared behind a pair of French doors.
A small camera hung discreetly in the corner of the room. Mike appreciated its visibility. Cameras in banks and retail stores were visible for a reason. The owners wanted you to know you were being watched. It was an unspoken warning for you to stay on your best behavior. Too, it was a promise to clients that their safety was being watched over. While hidden cameras had grown ubiquitous and the general populace knew there were few public or private areas not being electronically patrolled, a visible camera just felt more honest. In a subtle way, that made him feel better about whatever secrets Triple E was hiding. At least they were hiding them openly.
However, where there were cameras in a business there could also be microphones, and that made having any sort of open conversation awkward. So, after checking his phone for any updates on the alert, Mike took the time to study the woman who had taken a chair perpendicular to his. Unlike the Southern women in Atlanta he’d grown up with and the government agents in Maryland he was used to working with, she was feminine in a non-pretentious way. Tight jeans and a snug blouse showed off delicate curves. Her hair was pulled back from her forehead in a utilitarian ponytail, and her tanned face didn’t have a smudge of makeup that he could see. While she didn’t have the kind of stunning beauty that made married men consider new pickup lines, she had a comfortable, approachable look that men like — well, men like him — found easy to be close to. A totally superficial judgment, he knew, but all he could go by sitting silently in this comfortable yet somewhat sterile room.
He caught her catching him checking her out, though he didn’t think he was checking her out in
that
way, only in a “two strangers in the same room circumstantially working together” kind of way. Still, it embarrassed him and he opened his phone to study satellite maps of the area instead. If Triple E wasn’t affiliated with some secret government activity, they could conceal their operations from eyes on the ground but not from eyes in the sky.
Which was precisely why privacy laws these days dictated the resolution of public satellite images of private properties not be granular enough to allow identification of people or vehicles.
Mike could zero in on the property and could see the buildings and those huge stockade fences that not only surrounded the extensive property line but sectioned it off into at least a couple of dozen smaller lots. Shadowy shapes in some of those lots seemed to indicate either very large individual beasts or, more likely, two or more animals grazing together. What they were, he couldn’t tell. The images were tantalizing but ultimately frustrating. Even knowing he was at maximum magnification, he couldn’t help hitting the zoom button again and, sheepishly, again to try to resolve the shapes on the ground.
He passed the phone to Donna who panned around the property squinting at the screen and
frowning
her frustration back at him.
As the French doors opened she handed the phone back to him and they both stood.
A smiling, middle-aged woman with shoulder-length hair and deep sable skin introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Helen Marsh, marketing director for Triple E. Welcome to our facilities. I understand you’re with the CDC and have some questions for us?”
Mike extended his hand, immediately put at ease by the woman’s composure. “I’m Mike Shafer, Health Statistics.”
“Dr. Donna Bailey,” Donna introduced herself. “I’m a veterinarian here in McKenzie County.”
Helen’s smile faltered a little at mention of the word
veterinarian
. But she quickly recovered, saying, “Well, you’ll appreciate that we have a few company secrets we’re a little protective of. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to answer any questions you might have. But you’ll do me the
courtesy,
I’m sure, of answering one question for me first. Not that we’re not delighted to see you, but why exactly are you here?”
“You heard the news this morning?” Mike said.
“Since you’re with the CDC, I’ll assume you mean the reports of some type of disease that may be in the area and not last night’s traffic accident out on 85.”