Adonia knew they had to get out of the Mountain.
As they climbed higher, she heard a muted roar far overhead. The air currents whistled past them, sucked up from below to be exhausted outside. Adonia occasionally caught a cloying whiff, and she knew that halothane was being drawn up the shaft in the turnover of the huge volume of air exchanged from the massive underground cavern. If enough knockout gas swirled up past them, rendering them unconscious, the three of them would slip from the rungs and fall all the way down.
No! They were going to make it.
Shawn brought up the rear. Adonia knew a five-hundred-foot climb would have been an exhilarating exercise for him, but she worried most about Garibaldi. He kept doggedly ascending, holding the rungs with his raw and blistered hands.
“We’ll be out of here in another fifteen, twenty minutes at the most,” she said. It was entirely a guess, and she didn’t know what they would find when they did reach the top of the shaft. Could they even get out? If air vented from the Mountain, there had to be some sort of opening up there for the flow to escape. But she wouldn’t be surprised if they encountered an impenetrable barricade of filters for scrubbing the air.
The roar above them increased, as did the wind streaming past them. She could feel the metal rungs vibrating in her hands. Considering the size of the huge mountain complex, all the air needed to recirculate, and such a significant volume had to exit somewhere.
She craned her neck upward to see how far they still had to go, then reeled in shock, letting her grip momentarily slip. Her other arm wrapped around the bar, catching her before she could fall.
A hundred feet above them was a giant, rotating fan, turning furiously to pull the air out. The blades extended across the shaft, blocking where they needed to go.
44
Settling into the Eagle’s Nest office, van Dyckman felt a knot in his stomach as he surveyed the operations center below. On the big wall screens, he watched the DOE’s Special Response Teams gather just outside Hydra Mountain’s massive exterior doors. Incident Commander Jennings had relayed that the Nuclear Emergency Support Team, the Accident Response Group, and personnel from the Radiological Assistance Program were all in place to assist as soon as the lockdown ended. They had already entered through the multiple chain-link and razor-wire fences, guard gate after guard gate, and were now positioned just outside the vehicle entrance.
Due to the uncertain nature of the initial lockdown and the subsequent systems reboot, the SRT weapons were hot-cocked and ready, including a deadly Dillon M134 7.62 mm Minigun. The team members had been hand-selected from DOE’s Protective Services for the elite team, and they had trained for years to protect nuclear weapons and material. Additional SRT members had already been placed at strategic locations around the Mountain in full-bore support, but they kept a low profile so that the outside world, including satellite surveillance, would see only minimal activity.
As the reboot timer finally counted down, emergency nuclear cleanup teams from both Los Alamos and Sandia National Laboratories joined the team. Wearing yellow protective clothing complete with self-contained breathing supplies, they carried a range of equipment from radiation detectors to solvent sprayers. The trained scientists would follow the Special Response Team inside, prepared for the worst.
But they couldn’t get inside. Not yet.
The DOE Incident Commander worked with her military counterpart in a command post two hundred yards upwind from where the team would enter. Although this emergency was in a DOE facility, Kirtland Air Force Base provided critical infrastructure support; even so, Kirtland personnel remained in the dark about the real nature of the problem inside Hydra Mountain—van Dyckman had made sure of that, now that Rob Harris was sequestered. From now on, all information had to come and go through him.
Van Dyckman maintained contact from the Eagle’s Nest and watched via an encrypted link that the Nuclear Incident Command System had set up. But he had put his foot down with Jennings, refusing to let the video feed go directly to DOE Headquarters. Not now. He didn’t dare let outside officials monitor his operations in real time. The Incident Commander protested, but he overruled her.
As Valiant Locksmith’s national program manager—and now Hydra Mountain’s acting site manager—Stanley van Dyckman had absolute control over the flow of information. By the time the neophyte Secretary of Energy learned details about the incident, he would have cleaned up any nasty contradictions that might implicate him.
Except for Incident Commander Jennings herself, the response teams weren’t at all cognizant of the SAPs inside the Mountain; the people did not know about the nuclear waste stored there, or the cooling pools in the lower level—and most especially they didn’t know about Victoria’s covert stockpile of nuclear devices. The teams received only basic information couched in vague terms about a possible spill of high-level nuclear waste inside and that nuclear weapon components might be involved.
No explanations, no details. No need to know.
But every team member understood that the SRT would never have been activated if this weren’t a real-world event. They knew this was not a training exercise. Waiting outside in the relentless New Mexico afternoon heat and blustery desert winds, the SRT and cleanup teams remained on high alert, ready to engage as soon as the lockdown lifted. By now, everyone was getting edgy.
Van Dyckman watched the countdown finally reach zero with a sense of both relief and trepidation. Time to go!
A warning horn blared outside the Mountain. The massive outer steel vault doors began to crawl open, not for a truck delivery this time but to allow access to the Special Response Team. Simultaneously, the large wall monitors in the operations center below blinked as their systems came fully back online, restoring normal routines.
“We are open for business!” van Dyckman shouted aloud, realizing his enthusiasm might seem inappropriate. No one could hear him anyway.
Jennings barked her orders, and the Special Response Team readied their weapons. As soon as the heavy door had opened far enough, the team sprinted through the gap and into Hydra Mountain. The first man slid through the widening door and hustled ahead to set up a security perimeter.
The SRT split into two subteams, the first covering the door to the inner storage area, and the second team jogging down the tunnels to the portal at the incline that led to the lower cavern. As Jennings took point, they would sweep the entire upper and lower levels, making sure they overlooked no potential intruder. But van Dyckman had given them clear instructions: their primary focus was to secure the Velvet Hammer vault, to seal the clogged door and block off the devices from dangerous stray radiation.
Watching the bustling military-style operation on the wall screens, van Dyckman thought their aggressive caution was a bit excessive, but the Incident Commander refused to back down. Jennings had been read into Victoria’s SAP and she knew her team might be dealing with unsecured nuclear weapons.
After the SRT detected no immediate threat in the upper tunnels and declared that portion of the Mountain secure, both the Los Alamos and Sandia nuclear accident cleanup teams were escorted into the main corridor. After the last scientist entered the Mountain, the massive vehicle vault door ground slowly shut. Once the outer barrier was closed, the inner storage doors opened, and the Special Response Team entered the even more highly classified interior of the facility.
As if they were invading a small country, the SRT thundered down the incline. Van Dyckman had made sure the countermeasures were deactivated now, and he’d informed the Incident Commander that there was minimal risk of any active threat—in fact, he doubted anyone was still alive down there—but she again opted for extreme caution. To make certain no radiofrequency signals triggered yet another lockdown—like Senator Pulaski’s cell phone—the teams left their normal communication equipment outside; instead, they unreeled spools of shielded fiber-optic line.
Reaching the security portal down the inclined tunnel, a waste cleanup tec
h in full protective suit sprayed solvent on the hardened sticky foam that covered the entry, softening the mass of material. Just behind him, two other cleanup team members used heavy barricade-clearing equipment to punch through the opening. The cleanup operator sprayed more solvent, dissolving the obstruction. The sticky foam faded almost as quickly as it had hardened.
One by one, the team members squeezed through the cramped guard portal and jogged down the slope. One man remained inside the guard chamber, working the controls to disengage the halothane pumps and serve as a back observer.
The Los Alamos and Sandia cleanup team followed the vigilant SRT down, and soon they stood on the high bay ledge overlooking the huge main cavern. The first team members had already rappelled down the fifty-foot drop-off and fanned out on the lowest floor, wearing gas masks against the halothane. One engineer worked the reset controls to activate the freight elevators and return them to the ledge, which let the cleanup crew descend to the floor, where they could install industrial ventilation pumps, though it would take some time to vent all the deadly gas.
The SRT point men raced to the far end of the cavern with orders to clear the hardened sticky foam from the Velvet Hammer vault. Getting that massive metal door shut again was their highest priority, partly to secure any nuclear “components,” but primarily to block off the stray radiation.
With their voices muffled by gas masks, team members shouted for survivors while they spread out to search the giant chamber. Hearing no answer, they combed the floor and the piled construction materials, expecting to find three dead human forms sprawled in the dissipating yellowish mist.
Using the fiber-optic line they’d trailed after them, the Special Response Team reported back up to Jennings in the Incident Command Post. “No survivors so far, ma’am. No dead bodies either.”
Listening in from his upper office, van Dyckman leaned forward and interrupted the report. “Have you entered the vault itself? I’m sure you’ll recover Undersecretary Doyle when you clear the sticky foam.” He frowned down at the screen. “You will also find Senator Pulaski in the temporary cooling pool, where he drowned.”
Commander Jennings’s voice came over the speaker. “Mr. van Dyckman, please clear the line—”
Harris’s harried-looking exec, Drexler, came running in, his face flushed. “Sir, I have some very good news!”
Van Dyckman caught his breath. “I could certainly use some.” He tried to imagine what the man might be talking about, but he wasn’t sure he would agree it was good news.
“They’ve released the technician who was trapped in the dry-storage chamber. Mrs. Garcia is flustered, but just fine.” Drexler chuckled. “She’s asked for tomorrow off, and I told her it was the least we could do. You don’t need to worry about her anymore, sir. She’s safe.”
He tried to hide his acute disappointment. He had forgotten all about the older woman. “Wonderful, Mr. Drexler. I won’t give it another thought. She’s in good hands.” Far better news would be when they discovered the bodies of the others. Then no one could tell a different version of the story. He would be in control of all the details.
For the next half hour, he watched with increasing anxiety as the cleanup crew continued their work and the NEST team verified that Victoria’s nuclear devices were secure, the Velvet Hammer vault closed against the increased radiation in the cavern.
During the mop-up operation, they did indeed find Victoria’s body trapped like a bug in amber, overwhelmed and suffocated by the sticky foam. He experienced a queasy chill when they sent him images of her. He hadn’t expected to react so emotionally, since he had no leftover feelings for her. Maybe it was just the aftershock of realizing that he could have suffered the same fate if he’d been even a second slower. Yes, that was all it was.
Oddly, when the team searched the temporary holding pool to retrieve the drowned body of Senator Pulaski, they reported back to the Incident Commander that the corpse had been moved, and used as a bizarre sort of patch to plug a puncture hole in the above-ground storage pool.
Hearing this, van Dyckman felt a deep chill. A hole in the plastic pool? Probably from the fallen fuel rods. Was the water draining, which would expose the rods? Then he paused as his thought shot off in a different direction. How had Pulaski’s body been moved? Did it just drift up against the leak? But he had been pinned down by the rods. Did that mean one or more of the three missing team members had moved him on purpose? That someone had gone back in the pool, risking a significant radiation exposure?
Maybe someone remained alive. But where were they now? The SRT hadn’t found anybody.
The toppled rods posed an immediate danger, and the cleanup team worked to reset the array and patch the weakened pool wall.
The Sandia lead transmitted a message: “Mr. van Dyckman, sir, both labs strongly recommend that you immediately remove all spent fuel rods from this facility and transport them back to their original nuclear sites. With the nuclear components stored in that vault, this location should not be used for wet storage.”
He replied in a glacial voice, “I will take that under advisement.”
His hands began to shake as the Incident Commander completed the full inspection and sent her report. “Our sweep of the lower level is complete, sir. This chamber is secure. We’ve started pumping the halothane up the vertical ventilation shaft. Once it vents outside, UV radiation will break down the gas. However, although we discovered the bodies of Senator Pulaski and Undersecretary Doyle, we found no sign of the three remaining people. There’s nobody else down here.”
45
The giant rotating fan overhead was like a twirling executioner’s ax, blocking their way. The whooshing hum grew louder, nearly overwhelming as the blades spun, pulling a river of air that flowed past them to vent somewhere high above. Adonia knew the shaft led to outside and freedom—if they could just get past this obstacle.
On the ladder just below, Garibaldi hung exhausted and dejected. Until now, he had focused on the climb, one rung at a time, almost in a trance. Now he just stared without hope at the revolving blades.
Just beneath him, Shawn clung to the wall, shaking his head in grim frustration. “Can you see any controls, Adonia? Is there some way to shut it down?”
“You know that would be too easy.” She doggedly climbed closer to the impregnable barrier. Directly above, the giant fan looked ancient. “Must be part of the 1950s vintage ventilation system.”
Garibaldi seemed to be pondering an engineering problem. “How … many blades?”
She didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “Four, like propeller vanes. They’re moving pretty fast, and completely blocking our way.”
Sagging on the rung, Garibaldi nodded. “Good. At least … it’s not a new industrial fan, a centrifugal type. Otherwise we’d never be able to get through.”
Shawn called up, his voice sounding urgent. “Do you smell that?”
Adonia drew in a deep breath as she looked down at Shawn’s worried face. The faint sweet odor was unmistakable, and she knew what it meant. “If the lockdown finally ended, they’re purging the cavern, venting the gas to the outside—and it will flow right past us. All of it.”
“Which means we can’t go back down,” Shawn said. “The halothane would overwhelm us as we descend.”
Garibaldi looked up. “The quickest way to slow the gas—and for us to escape, of course—is to stop that fan.”
“An excellent suggestion, but how do we do that?” Adonia asked. “I don’t even see any power lines to cut.”
With a raw, radiation-burned hand, Garibaldi patted one of the LED lights that illuminated the shaft. A small dull-colored conduit ran up the granite wall. “This must cover a power line. It looks plastic instead of metal.”
Adonia struck it with her knuckles. “We still don’t have any way to cut it.”
“You don’t need to—there’s another way to stop the power. Quickly now, climb closer to the rotating blades. I’ll follow
you so I can inspect the apparatus.” As they hung twenty feet below the spinning blades, the old scientist now seemed stronger, energized. “Good. There’s no grill or grating on either side.”
“It’s not a tourist attraction,” Adonia said. “There shouldn’t be anyone up here except for maintenance crews, and they would have to get through any safety barriers.”
“If the blades weren’t moving, there’d be plenty of room for us to squeeze between them,” Shawn said.
Garibaldi tightened his grip on the rungs. “Colonel, if you would please untie the rope around my waist? I’d do it myself, but I would rather save my strength—”
Shawn shook his head. “You’re too unsteady, sir. And the halothane fumes aren’t helping.”
Garibaldi continued lecturing, undeterred. “We’ll just have to risk it. Untie yours as well, Colonel. Then Ms. Rojas can climb right up and feed the loose line into the rotating blades. That should make a thorough mess of things.”
Adonia grinned as she understood. “The rope will jam it up in no time, burn out the rotor.”
After Shawn untied the rope from himself and from the older man’s waist, Garibaldi handed the end up to Adonia. “This will require some skill, and maybe luck. If you toss it in too quickly, the blades will kick the rope straight up and eject it, without ruining the motor. If you feed in the line too slowly, the blades will whip the rope around and it will flail us like a bullwhip.”
“Sure, no pressure.” Adonia was quiet for a moment, studying the fan as she pulled up the rope. The cloying smell of rising halothane grew stronger, and she started to feel light-headed. But they were so close to the outside she could taste it, and if they jammed the fan, it would stop drawing the fumes up the shaft. “So I get one chance. I feed the rope into the blades, and release it right away?”
Kill Zone Page 29