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Hurricane Isaac.”
    “Tell me again why I’d be interested in going along?”
    “Actually you’d be doing me a big favor.” Charlie’s voice turned serious. “I was already on my way down because of the hurricane. Got a bit of a distraction, though. Coast Guard found a fishing cooler in the Gulf.”
    He left a pause inviting her to finish.
    “Let me guess. It wasn’t filled with fish.”
    “Exactly. Local law enforcement has its hands full with hurricane preps. Coast Guard makes it DHS, but I’m thinking the assortment of body parts throws it over to FBI. I just checked with AD Kunze to see if I can borrow you.”
    “You talked to Kunze? Today?”
    “Yep. Just a few minutes ago. He seemed to think it’d be a good idea.”
    She wasn’t surprised that her boss wanted to send her into the eye of a hurricane.

CHAPTER 3

    NAVAL AIR STATION (NAS)
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA
    Colonel Benjamin Platt didn’t recognize this part of the base, though he’d been here once before. Usually he was in and out of these places too quickly to become familiar with any of them.
    “It’s gorgeous,” he said, looking out at Pensacola Bay.
    His escort, Captain Carl Ganz, seemed caught off guard by the comment, turning around to see just what Platt was pointing out. Their driver slowed as if to assist his captain’s view.
    “Oh yes, definitely. Guess we take it for granted,” Captain Ganz said. “Pensacola is one of the prettiest places I’ve been stationed. Just getting back from Kabul, I’m sure this looks especially gorgeous.”
    “You’re right about that.”
    “How was it?”
    “The trip?”
    “Afghanistan.”
    “The dust never lets up. Still feel like my lungs haven’t cleared.”
    “I remember. I was part of a medevac team in 2005,” Captain Ganz told Platt.
    “I didn’t realize that.”
    “Summer 2005. We lost one of our SEALs. A four-member reconnaissance contingent came under attack. Then a helicopter carrying sixteen soldiers flew in as a reinforcement but was shot down.” Ganz kept his eyes on the water in the bay. “All aboard died. As did the ground crew.”
    Platt let out a breath and shook his head. “That’s not a good day.”
    “You were there back then, too, weren’t you?”
    “Earlier. Actually the first months of the war,” Platt said. “I was part of the team trying to protect our guys from biological or chemical weapons. Ended up cutting and suturing more than anything else.”
    “So has it changed?”
    “The war?”
    “Afghanistan.”
    Platt paused and studied Captain Ganz. He was a little older than Platt, maybe forty, with a boyish face, although his hair had already prematurely turned gray. This was the first time the two men had met in person. Past correspondences had been via e-mail and phone calls. Platt was a medical doctor and director of infectious diseases at Fort Detrick’s USAMRIID and charged with preventing, inoculating, and containing some of the deadliest diseases ever known. Ganz, also a physician, ran a medical program for the navy that oversaw the surgical needs of wounded soldiers.
    “Sadly, no,” Platt finally answered, deciding he could be honest with Ganz. “Reminded me too much of those early days. Seems likewe’re chasing our tails. Only now we’re doing it with our hands tied behind our backs.”
    Platt rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes, trying to wipe out the fatigue. He still felt jet-lagged from his flight. He hadn’t been back home even forty-eight hours when he got the call from Captain Ganz.
    “Tell me about this mystery virus.” Platt decided he’d just as well cut to the chase.
    “We’ve isolated and quarantined every soldier we think may have come in contact with the first cases, the ones that are now breaking. Until we know what it is, I figured it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
    “Absolutely. What are the symptoms?”
    “That’s just it. There are very few. At least, in the beginning. Initially there’s excruciating