Murder at the CDC by Margaret Truman

Author:Margaret Truman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

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Downwind from the scent of manure mixed with freshly cut grass, Deacon Frank remembered the senator describing how he’d milked that guilt-ridden soldier for all he was worth, employing far more skill than he used when he’d milked his first cow. The soldier claimed he wasn’t able to sleep because of the nightmares that had resurfaced over something he called the “white death,” which had vanished into nowhere. Couldn’t live with himself, keeping that secret anymore, ended up hospitalized in some nuthouse as a result. So he’d come to his home state senator to do something about it. Finish the job of flushing the white death down some proverbial toilet, which is what was supposed to happen when it reached Umatilla, Oregon—before it disappeared off the face of the earth.

How much of this shit are we talking about, Senator?

Enough to set this country right. Enough to get us back on the track we belong on. Get rid of the people standing in our way. Make me president and make you something even bigger.

And by “get rid of,” you mean …

Yes, I do, Deacon Frank.

There’s an awful lot of them.

That won’t be a problem.

But now they had a problem.

Deacon Frank swung his gaze about the sprawling property, which had the look of a national park, with all the greenery that looked carved out of a pristine forest. Indeed, this land had all been forest at one point, and Deacon Frank had painstakingly constructed his mansion so as to disturb the vegetation as minimally as possible. The natural beauty was why he had fallen in love with this stretch of property, so he wanted to preserve as much of it as he could. He also believed it was why his farm produced the best milk in the region. He had the trophies to prove it.

Deacon Frank also wanted no part of bringing the senator to the main house, where he would be in close proximity to Daniel. He’d applied salve to the wounds left on his son’s back by the belt lashes, and had then dressed them in gauze and adhesive tape. Daniel had moaned and sobbed through the whole process. Deacon Frank was not of a mind to kowtow to modern-day norms and rules, whether written or unwritten, like the ones that said you couldn’t punish your children anymore. In his mind, the very notion of a parent being charged with child abuse for keeping his kid in line was the height of absurdity, and he felt nothing but loathing for the segment of the population that was driving such practices.

In other words, the segment of the population that was destroying this country, letting it rot from the inside out. Deacon Frank had no problem with progress. Progress had made him rich beyond his wildest imagination, even though he’d inherited the vast bulk of his wealth from the Reverend Rand Atlas Wilhyte. His father’s fortune had paid for this spread and for his mission in life, which had seen

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