Silent Creed (19 page)

O
kay, you’re right,” Creed finally said. “You need to take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?”

He thought he saw a flush go over her face. The tough FBI agent always seemed a bit shy and vulnerable about taking off her clothes.

“They’ll waterlog you. Seriously, taking off your clothes will cut down the drag. Keep your shoes on. You don’t want to cut up your feet and maybe they’ll give you some extra traction.”

He started looking again at the ground for a sturdy branch to use as a pole. It might help keep her balance. If nothing else, she could use it to probe for debris. When he glanced over she was peeling off her last layer, leaving on her sports bra. She unzipped her jeans, then stopped and looked back out at the water. She caught him watching and zipped the jeans up.

“I’m not having some sewer rat bite me.”

He nodded. Tried not to smile.

He helped her wrap and tie the rope around her waist. They tied the other end to another tree trunk. He took hold of the middle. He’d try to dole out what she needed as she needed it and also pull her in. He handed her the tree branch.

“Keep it on the upstream side of your body. It’ll be easier to hold on to and it’ll stay in place. Otherwise it’s of no use to you. The current’s going to push and pull. If it knocks you down, keep your feet out in front of you. You want your feet hitting those rocks instead of your head.”

She was nodding and taking it all in.

“Do you remember some of those deep gouges?”

Another nod.

“If you step into one of those, don’t panic. The deepest the water’s gonna be is chest-high.” He had no idea if that was true, but as fast as the water was still running, he didn’t think she’d ever touch bottom in those crevices.

He pointed at a spot on the riverbank. “It’s going to be easier if you wade against the flow at a forty-five-degree angle. I know that sounds strange but you’re gonna need to trust me on that.”

He helped her down into the water and could feel her shiver.

“Whoa! That’s cold! Hold on, Bolo, I’m coming.”

She did better than Creed expected. She didn’t fight the current. Instead she worked her way slowly, sometimes walking, sometimes floating. Once she capsized and Creed reeled her in so she wouldn’t be swept downstream. She waved her thanks and started again, holding the branch to steady herself.

By the time she reached Bolo he was wagging, excited and ready to join her in the water. Then she did something that Creed did not expect, that they had not discussed. She took the dangling leash and weaved it around her waist, knotting it tight. If she lost her grip on the big dog he’d still be attached to her. But he could also yank her down the stream with him.

Creed fisted the rope in his hands, wrapping it around his wrists. He checked the knot on the other end that circled the tree trunk. It was still secure. The mud was slick underneath his shoes. It wouldn’t take much of a jerk to knock him off his feet. He bent his knees and squatted when he felt the current suck at Maggie. She had Bolo in the water now.

It looked like it was taking considerable effort for her to convince Bolo to go slow. He had to be exhausted and yet what pent-up energy was left made him want to swim like the dickens and get to his owner. But Maggie held him alongside her.

The branch, her balance pole, had been swept away when she helped Bolo off the rock. She couldn’t keep her feet on the bottom and finally gave up. Instead she dog-paddled with Bolo, letting Creed reel them in.

She used her other hand to push off the debris, anticipating it even when Creed couldn’t see it. She was maneuvering around the obstacles she had already encountered and noted on her way to get to Bolo.

When he finally had them at the riverbank, he gestured for her to hold on a minute. He kept the rope taut as he moved to the tree, adjusting the slack and retying it so it would hold Maggie in place at the ledge while he helped them up.

She untangled the dog’s leash from her waist. Bolo clawed up the muddy bank while Creed pulled and Maggie pushed. On land the big dog slobbered Creed’s face with kisses.

“Hold on, buddy. We need to get Maggie up.”

And Bolo joined Creed at the ledge. He went down on his belly, paws over the edge, as if he was ready to help. Creed gave him a section of the rope and the dog took it in his teeth. As he pulled Maggie up, Bolo pulled, too. Creed wrapped his arms around her and fell to the ground.

Finally safe, he tried to catch his breath. Maggie’s weight was crushing his chest but he didn’t care. He still held her tight against him. His lips found her cheek, then her ear. His voice was hoarse when he said, “You did it!”

She pulled up, careful to put her hands on the ground instead of pushing against his chest. She was smiling and breathing hard, pleased with herself, but he also saw relief. Incredible relief.

Bolo was ready to play. He head-butted Maggie, knocking her off Creed and into the mud. She grabbed his big wet body and pulled him in for a hug.

Creed tried to pull himself to his knees, and that’s when the pain stopped him. He lay back down, this time facedown in the mud, and he closed his eyes.

Washington, D.C.

E
llie had tried to listen carefully to Frank Sadowski’s testimony. She jotted notes to stay focused, and yet her mind kept returning to those photographs of schoolchildren. She couldn’t shake the image of her father smiling as he posed with them.

She loved and respected her father more than anyone else in her life. Her ex-husband had said many times how difficult it was to compete with the man who had died a hero to his daughter when she was only twenty-two years old. She had worshipped her father. Now she had to shove down all the conflicting emotions battling inside her. She needed to deal with the facts—all of them—even those facts that countless government officials and elected representatives had conveniently swept away over and over again for the past fifty years.

Sometime between last night and today’s testimony, Ellie had come to the conclusion that Senator Quincy had always planned for her to be on this committee. She remembered that it was Carter, her chief of staff, who set the bait, making her want to be a part of these hearings by making it sound like a smart PR move. It was Carter who had suggested she cast herself as a sympathetic listener to the many veteran constituents who’d be deciding her reelection.

There were still things she didn’t understand, but she was convinced that Carter and Quincy had played her. And why? Maybe because they believed she could be easily manipulated. Of course she’d agree and be on Senator Quincy’s side. As for Carter—being Quincy’s chief of staff would certainly bring him more power, more prestige, and even more money. In this city, only one of those goals was enough reason for betrayal.

Now Ellie understood that Quincy had no intention of doing anything about the veterans, like Frank Sadowski, who’d been physically and emotionally affected by Project 112. It was all a show for Quincy to make himself look good, to wield his authority—or look like he was. At the end of the hearings he would do nothing more than any of the other committees that had had their chance in the years before. At the end of the day, Senator John Quincy would pretend he had done everything he could, then deliver absolutely nothing at all.

They were taking a short break after Mr. Sadowski’s testimony. A chance for everyone to stretch his or her legs. An opportunity for the media to get their sound bites out for the next news cycle. Ellie knew when they reconvened, Quincy would most likely be wrapping things up.

She saw Amelia Gonzalez come in a side door, her arms filled and her eyes darting around as if looking for permission to enter. Ellie waved at her assistant and watched her small frame politely weave through the crowd. The girl had listened to every word Ellie had told her, taking notes to make sure she got all the instructions. And here she was, the stack of envelopes in her arms, the task complete and just in time. Gonzalez would become an excellent chief of staff as soon as Ellie fired Carter.

She helped her distribute the envelopes, one at each committee member’s place. Ellie took her seat and the shuffle of the room followed suit. In minutes Quincy was restoring order.

“We’ve heard from all our witnesses,” he said. “If there’s no objection, we’ll conclude these proceedings.” He didn’t even look around the room and was ready to dismiss them for the day when Ellie spoke.

“With your permission, Mr. Chairman, I believe each of us reserves the right to recall any of those witnesses if we wish to have some clarification. Is that correct?”

She used her most polite tone and he shot a bemused look around the room, one that said without any words that, sure, they could make time for the only woman on the committee.

“Yes, of course, that’s correct,” he told her. “I’m sure our clerk won’t mind asking Mr. Sadowski to return.”

“Oh, I have no more questions for Mr. Sadowski.”

Quincy looked confused now, but Ellie didn’t hesitate.

“I’d like to recall Dr. Abraham Hess.”

T
hey had to wait almost five minutes for the room to settle down and for the clerk to find Colonel Hess. During that time Quincy glared at Ellie while she instructed the committee members to wait before opening the envelopes she had left at each of their places.

Colonel Hess shuffled in with Colonel Platt beside him. The two men had been inseparable during the last several days. She had seen the same admiration in Benjamin Platt’s eyes that Ellie once felt for the colonel. As she watched the others in the room and the way they revered this man, she suddenly felt butterflies in her stomach.

What in the world was she doing?

Hess settled into his chair and adjusted the microphone to accommodate his slouching. Then he looked up at her and waited. They were all waiting.

“Dr. Hess,” she began with the same polite tone she had addressed Quincy, “you were kind enough to tell us the history and the importance of Project 112 and Project SHAD. As you pointed out, the 1950s and ’60s were a tumultuous time. It’s difficult to understand the level of threat when many of us here were children or, in some cases, weren’t even born yet.”

Hess nodded and she noticed that everyone seemed to ease back for what they now believed would be a boring summary and public pat on the back for Dr. Hess.

“I think what none of us realized was that these tests—like those that were simulated for Project 112—weren’t the only ones going on across the country.”

She paused and let that sink in. She hoped to see Dr. Hess look surprised or at the very least maybe just a little rattled. He remained unmoved, his gaze unwavering. Perhaps he tilted his head a fraction as he waited her out.

“What exactly are you saying, Senator Delanor?” It was Quincy who appeared anxious. This wasn’t what he had expected.

“There were other tests,” she said casually. “Minneapolis, Saint Louis, Detroit.” She waved a hand at the envelopes. “Go ahead and take a look. The evidence was documented many years ago. It just hasn’t been brought to the attention of this committee. Or, to my knowledge, to any of the committees that have investigated Project 112 or Project SHAD.”

“Those tests have nothing to do with either,” Dr. Hess said in a calm voice. “If you’ve read the reports, you certainly know that.” The professorial tone was back.

“I beg to differ, Dr. Hess. There are similarities. The army sprayed clouds of what they believed was a nontoxic material.” She pretended to refer to her notes but the details were still fresh in her memory. “I believe it was zinc cadmium sulfide. Does that sound correct, Dr. Hess?”

“I don’t have the benefit of having those details in front of me, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Between 1952 and 1969 multiple cities were used as test sites, as were multiple areas within each city. The ‘nontoxic’ material was sprayed from generators in the rear of trucks or in some cases from rooftops. At least one of those sites in Minneapolis was a public elementary school.” She paused and looked up at Hess. “Does this sound familiar now?”

He shifted slightly in his chair.

“Zinc sulfide is a fluorescent phosphor, chosen so scientists could actually test the students at various times with ‘special lights.’ Residual traces would illuminate on the children’s shoes or clothing or even on their bodies. The test was used to see if it showed up, and then how long it stayed.”

Now when Ellie glanced up and around the room she saw that she had everyone’s attention. There were no looks of boredom.

“What I’m wondering, Dr. Hess, is who determined the quantities that would be dispersed?”

“Excuse me?”

“The zinc sulfide. The army and Fort Detrick conducted these tests, but who was it who decided the composition of the fluorescent particles or how much was a safe level to spray?”

“As with any of these matters, there is a group who makes those decisions.”

“A group?” This time she smiled before she said, “Are you telling me the army did things back then by a democratic vote?”

There was a nervous laugh that spread across the room but it didn’t last, and now Hess couldn’t hide his irritation.

“Let me be more specific.” Ellie told him. “Who determined how much zinc cadmium sulfide was safe to spray on elementary-school children?”

He stared her down. Good Lord, her father would be so angry right now. But she continued, “It was you, wasn’t it, Dr. Hess?”

“I was the scientist in charge of that particular area.” There were a few whispers, and as if Hess wanted to extinguish them, he added, “Along with your father.”

She paused and allowed the room to whisper. Hess meant for the comment to connect her to this atrocity and discount her, but Ellie hoped for just the opposite. If she insisted on bringing this to light in spite of her father’s involvement, perhaps it would make her case even stronger.

“Zinc cadmium sulfide is now believed to be toxic. Studies show that it’s toxic enough to cause birth defects and even cancer. Isn’t that correct?”

“At the time it was said to be a safe, nontoxic material. Because of its phosphor principles it was easily traced. No one was known to be harmed.”

“And how would they have known, Dr. Hess, if their cancer or their child’s birth defect was actually caused by your ‘nontoxic’ material? How could they know when you didn’t even tell them that they were exposed?”

Silence, but his glare answered for him.

“How many other tests like this were conducted, Dr. Hess?”

“I’m unaware of the number.” This time he shrugged like it made no difference.

“The army admits that more than a hundred similar tests were conducted in multiple cities across the country on unsuspecting citizens.”

Now the room seemed to come alive as people shifted in their chairs, cameras clicked, and committee members flipped through the copies of photographs and information from inside the envelopes.

“You have no right to judge.” Dr. Hess’s voice boomed over the room, a teacher scolding his students into silence. “It was a dangerous time. We faced an enemy like no other. The Russians were already far more advanced and had stockpiles of biological and chemical weapons that could level any one of our cities in a matter of hours. The Russians didn’t hesitate to use those weapons on their own people.”

“Apparently you and my father and the United States Army didn’t hesitate to use them on our own people, either.”

“The sacrifice of a few to save millions.” He shook his head as he said it, like she would never understand.

“Schoolchildren, Dr. Hess?” She held up the photo of him with her father and the row of smiling elementary-school students for everyone, especially the cameras, to see. “If you’d do it to schoolchildren without the public knowing, without their parents’ consent, why would we not believe that you’d do it to sailors and soldiers without their consent? Without their knowledge?”

The room went silent again.

“We need to give veterans like Frank Sadowski and all the others the medical benefits and care that they’ve been asking for. That they deserve. Even if it’s fifty years late.”