Damage Control

by Gordon Savage

  As we walked into the office, she said, “Xavier, Samantha is here.” She ushered me into the room and turned to me. “You’ll have to excuse me. Kendall is having trouble with a math problem and wants my help. Stop by before you leave. If you feel up to it, we can talk.”

  Xavi said, “Hey.” He beckoned me over and pulled a chair over to the desk. I gratefully took the seat. He pointed at his monitor. “This video is only 720P so the resolution isn’t great. Take a look at it. Then if you want a copy, I have it on a flash drive.” He waved the drive at me.

  He ran the video again. I watched over his shoulder. It was the same one I had watched on YouTube, maybe a little better quality. “Can you run it one frame at a time?” I asked.

  He froze the image and began manually stepping through the playback. “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. Stop just before the explosion.”

  He fast forwarded almost to the end and selected the third frame from the last. He had a 27 inch monitor and the image filled the screen. He stepped through the remaining frames giving me a chance to study each of them. The last one was a cloud of flaming gas that filled most of the frame except the top. It was hard to tell from the 2D picture, but to me the top of the cloud appeared curved, if not much. The curvature and the fact that the cloud didn’t reach the top of the frame suggested the explosion had occurred lower than the camera and maybe a little to the side of the portal. “Back it up one frame,” I asked.

  That frame showed no signs of the explosion, and Reid was clearly addressing his audience, sitting at the control console looking at the camera. His hands were nowhere near the keyboard. Surely he couldn’t have reached the Enter key in the time between frames much less press it. Nobody could be fast enough to do that in less than a thirtieth of a second. I leaned forward and pointed toward Reid’s image. “Does that look strange to you?”

  Xavi had reached the same conclusion I had. “He’s too far away to have reached the keyboard before the explosion. There’s usually a delay built into live transmissions, but I don’t see how they could have clipped a single frame or more while this was going on.”

  “Or have any reason to,” I agreed. “Bleeping a word is one thing, but removing a frame? Besides the person who would have had to chop a frame was in a van outside. He wouldn’t have had time to cut it before the blast hit. ”

  I straightened up, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. That final frame was suggestive, but it wouldn’t stand up in court. Heck, it didn’t convince me. “I definitely need that flash drive. I want to go through the video again to see if there’s anything else in it.”

  Xavi picked up the flash drive from the desk and handed it to me. “Here you go. Mind telling me what you’re planning to do?”

  I pocketed the drive. “Frost thinks Wells is going to use the explosion as an excuse to close down teleportal experiments. I want to find out what really happened to keep him from shutting us down.”

  “Good luck, Sherlock.” He stood up and shook my hand. “Will I see you at work tomorrow?”

  “Probably not. I made the mistake of telling Frost the explosion wasn’t matter/antimatter. He wants me to see if I can prove it. Without thinking, I agreed to do it, and now I’m wondering if I’m not in over my head. It’s going to be a bear finding a way to prove the blast wasn’t caused by the portal. Other than that I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

  Xavi nodded. “In that case can I help you take it easy by offering you a ride home?”

  I didn’t argue. I was grateful for the offer, but I was thinking I had to get a better video. Was there one?

  ◆◆◆

  Day 3, 8:30PM

  On the way home I thought about needing to do some fast and serious investigating if I was going to thwart Wells. That meant everything from getting a look at whatever evidence there was to interviewing possible witnesses. How was I going to do that? Then I remembered that Jake Coffee had sworn me in as an agent and hadn’t officially debriefed me. Maybe I could use that to be official and get cooperation, but I’d have to check with Jake first. I made a mental note to call him in the morning.

  When we got to my condo, I thanked Xavi and headed into the building. On my way upstairs I recalled I hadn’t checked my landline voicemail since going to the safe house almost a month ago. Sure enough the mailbox was full, most of it from Mom. She had left her first voice mail a few days after I had left for Colorado. She continued leaving messages with increasing frequency and concern until the mailbox filled. I was almost surprised she and Dad weren’t camped outside my door. I checked the time before dialing her number. It was still early in San Diego.

  “Samantha?” It was as if she didn’t trust seeing my name on her phone.

  “Yes, Mom. Sorry about not being available. I’ve been on a remote assignment.”

  “Did you forget to take your phone with you?”

  “No, Mom. I was in a safe house, and they didn’t have a land line or cell phone service.” I shouldn’t have said safe house.

  “You were in a safe house?” Her voice rose as she spoke. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No, Mom. I was helping Dr. Kim and her team, and they were there as a precaution.” Protective custody, I thought. Was that even necessary now that Reid had demonstrated a working teleportal to the world before he was blown to bits? Of course, Wells would want to keep them there so he could control their experiments.

  “Oh. I heard about her. She wasn’t connected to that Duncan Reid fellow—the one who got blown up—was she?”

  I decided not to answer that question. “Mom, I’m okay, but I need to tell you something. Please don’t get excited about it.” I took a deep breath. “I was outside Duncan Reid’s laboratory when he got blown up. I got some minor injuries and a slight concussion, but I’m okay.”

  She sounded suspicious. “Minor injuries? How minor?”

  After convincing her I was really okay, I talked to Dad for a few minutes and finished cleaning out my voicemail. Gary had managed to get a message in before Mom had filled the in-box. “What the hell do you mean telling a cabdriver I’ll take his case for free? Call me as soon as you get this.”

  Deciding to get it over with, I picked up the phone and called his cell. His voice exploded at me. “Who gave you the right to give away…?”

  I cut him off. “Stop right there! After what you did to me, you owe me!” I pulled out the desk drawer and looked at the small, felt-covered box lying there. Inwardly I was pleased that it no longer hurt to look at it. Getting to know Troy had taken care of that. “If you want your ring back, you can have it, and when you’ve taken care of Abdourahime, we’ll call it even.”

  That seemed to take the wind out of his sails. “Look, babe. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I…”

  I interrupted him again. Our breakup had been a shouting match, and neither one of us had really listened to what the other was saying, but this wasn’t the time for him to try to justify what he had done. “You didn’t expect me to find out.”

  “No, that’s not it. It was a stupid mistake on my part.”

  “I won’t disagree with you there.”

  “She came on to me, and I…”

  “You can quit making excuses. I’ve moved on.” I paused. “When are you going to come get your ring?”

  “Keep the goddamn ring!”

  “Not a chance. You come get it, or it goes down the drain. And you will represent Abdourahime.” My tone of voice left nothing for him to argue with. I knew him well enough to be sure he would do the job.

  He was still fuming when he hung up. I didn’t feel smug about it, but at least I had gotten Abdourahime an attorney.

  The whole time I’d been on the phone I had been thinking about Melissa’s mother. As far as I knew no one had told her anything about where Melissa was or what had happened to her, other than what had been released in the news. I couldn’t tell her where the Trio actually was since they were in a safe house, but m
aybe I could ease her mind.

  When I had finished with Gary, I found her restaurant number online and called Melissa’s mother. It was still three hours earlier in Arizona so the time wasn’t a problem. She said nobody had told her anything and the news accounts she’d seen were so vague they were almost useless. All she knew was that Melissa’s device had been used to rescue some hostages. I felt guilty that no one had even informed her that Melissa was safe. I gave her a quick summary. She thanked me profusely for the information and then asked with a snarl in her voice who she should give a piece of her mind to. I was tempted to give her Wells’ office number.

  Chapter 10

  Leslie Smythe, Channel 12: “Ladies and gentlemen, our guest this morning is Police Captain Leonard Hammond of the DC police public information office. Good morning, Captain Hammond, and welcome to AM in DC.”

  Hammond: “Thank you, Leslie. It’s a shame it has to be under such tragic circumstances.”

  Smythe: “I understand that Homeland Security has taken over the investigation of Monday night’s explosion. Does this mean the federal government believes it was an act of terrorism?”

  Hammond: “Not at all. Because the explosion took place where a teleportal device was being tested, the government is investigating to determine if the devices might be inherently unstable. Also, there is grave concern that direct contact with another universe might incur serious risks. We have to determine whether some innate characteristic of wormholes or a difference between our universes caused the explosion before we can allow further experimentation with the devices.”

  AM in DC – Seven O’clock Edition – Channel 12

  Day 4, 6:00AM

  The harsh buzzer of my alarm chased away a dream where I didn’t hurt at all. Still groggy, I rolled onto my right side and slapped the sleep button with my left hand. I felt a minor twinge of pain, and it brought me completely awake. I rolled over onto my back again and lay there staring at the ceiling wondering about my next move. I was definitely unhappy with Wells for throwing his self-validating assumption into the mix. He wanted something he could use to slow down, or better yet halt, progress with teleportals. If he could keep the focus on the possibility of a matter/antimatter explosion, he had the tool to do that, even if the concern was irrelevant for teleporting in this universe. People were easy to scare when they didn’t understand something, and politicians were especially adept at scare tactics. It was as if fate was playing into his hand.

  Speculating about Wells brought up the question of what I could do to head him off. If he made a claim of a matter/antimatter explosion, was there enough evidence to disprove it? The final frame of the video was enough for me, but it was too brief to convince anyone who was already concerned about the safety of teleportals. So how could I convince skeptics? The obvious answer was to find the actual cause and solid evidence to verify it. Another possibility would be to prove the source of the explosion was somewhere other than the portal. That was what the video seemed to indicate. I had thought about it before; perhaps there were other videos that gave a more conclusive view. I wondered how receptive the local stations that had broadcast the explosion live would be to letting me have the videos. That brought me back to Jake and getting my status as a deputy agent confirmed.

  I scrambled out of bed and went through the painfully slow process of dressing myself. I put on a long-sleeved blouse to cover up the bandages on my arm and side. I left my hair down, not that it was very long, because it and my collar hid most of the bandage on my face and neck. I hoped to reduce some of the stunned looks that I had gotten the previous day.

  As soon as I had dressed, my thoughts turned to getting the other videos. I looked up the local TV stations on the internet and programmed their addresses and phone numbers into my phone. Then I stopped to think about Jake. The Agency office wouldn’t open officially for another hour, and I had two hours until my doctor’s appointment. From what I knew of Jake, he might already be in. He answered his phone on the second ring. “Coffee.”

  “Jake, this is Samantha Pederson. Have you got a minute?”

  “What can I do for you, Pederson?” He sounded gruff, but I didn’t know whether it meant anything. He had sounded gruff when we were working together in Arizona, and it just seemed to be his normal manner.

  I got straight to the point. “I’m going to do some digging into the Duncan Reid situation. I even have a charge number. You deputized me a few weeks ago and haven’t debriefed me yet. Can I legitimately call myself an agent still? I think it might open some doors.”

  The phone was silent while Jake was thinking about it. I heard him sigh, then say, “Can I trust you not to misuse it?”

  “Jake,” I said, with a slight edge to my voice. “You know you can."

  He got my message. “Sorry, Sam. Yes, I know I can. Use it wisely.”

  I checked the time. If I got moving, I had just enough time to check out the first TV channel on my list.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 4, 8:00AM

  One nice thing about the Metro, you can get around in DC faster than you can by car if there are stations nearby. The nearest station to my condo is a fifteen minute walk. Luckily, I got there right ahead of the train. My banged up appearance must have made people uneasy, because they tended to keep clear of me even on the crowded train in downtown DC.

  When I arrived at the Channel 12 office building, I stepped into a lobby as large as my entire apartment. Two stories tall and bedecked with plants, it felt like an atrium. The walls were decorated with overpowering blowups of awards and photos of the station news anchors. The guard sat at a desk to the left side of the doors at the rear leading into the station proper. A sign on her desk said, “Check in here.”

  The guard was a cute blond who looked like she was barely out of high school. I wondered how she qualified to be a guard, but when I walked up, I saw she carried a pistol on her belt. She was looking at one of her monitors when she spoke to me, “Good morning. Welcome to Channel Twelve News. How may I help you?” Then she looked at me and froze, looking genuinely shocked. “Wow! What happened to you?”

  Already tired of answering that question, I quipped, “Road rash.” I flashed my ID. “Federal Agent Samantha Pederson. I’m investigating the explosion that took the lives of Duncan Reid and several reporters, including your team. Could you point me to whoever was in charge of that broadcast?”

  “That would be Randall Mayhew, the producer. You’re the second federal investigator—actually there were two yesterday—wanting to see him. I’ll let him know you’re coming.” She made a quick phone call and then pointed to a hallway. “Third door on the left.”

  Mayhew was seated at a desk littered with papers and stills. The walls of his office were lined with shelves overstuffed with real books. Behind his desk was a plaque that said something about Edward R. Murrow. Mayhew was tall and thin with a gray goatee as the only hair on his head. He was dressed comfortably in a long-sleeved knit shirt and jeans. He stood up and smiled pleasantly when I came in, but I could see he was worn out, probably from dealing with all the fallout from the explosion. After his initial reaction to my bandages, he asked, “What can I do for you, Agent Pederson? I thought the other investigators had gotten what they needed.”

  I appreciated that I didn’t have to explain what had happened. Instead I went straight to my reason for being there. “I’m from another office. My boss thinks the explosion the other night is important enough that he wants to make sure we get it right, so I’m investigating it separately. I need copies of any videos you have of it.”

  He looked puzzled. “That’s strange. The other federal agents confiscated all our videos except for the one we broadcast. They said it was a matter of national security.”

  That took me by surprise. Someone was trying to control the evidence, and I had a good idea who, Wells. I grumbled, “So much for interagency cooperation. Did you get their names? I’ll need to talk to them.”

  He glanced at his desk
pad and ran his finger under something written there. “Nordstrom and Marcos. They were with …”

  I interrupted him. “Thanks, I know them. I’ll have to give them a piece of my mind for leaving me out of the loop.” Or make that Jake. They were both his people. I wondered why Coffee didn’t tell me his agents were already investigating.

  Still hoping to salvage something from this visit, I asked, “I don’t suppose you noticed anything remarkable in any of the videos.”

  “I’m afraid not,”—Mayhew shook his head—“but I admit I was distracted. A lot of those killed in that blast were close friends.”

  “I can understand that.” I reached across the desk and handed Mayhew my card. “Sorry to have troubled you. If you think of anything, give me a call. Thanks for your time.”

  ◆◆◆

  Day 4, 8:30AM

  As I left the TV station, I stewed over the confiscated videos. I was pretty sure Wells was behind the seizure. He may have wanted to have them thoroughly analyzed, but more likely he wanted to make sure no one examined them and noticed there was more to the explosion than the matter/antimatter explanation. Was he going to be one step ahead of me every time I had an idea?

  Walking to the Metro, I muttered to myself about how hard it made my job and tried to focus on coming up with useful ideas to find real evidence. I still hadn’t thought of anything when I boarded the train. I was beginning to wonder if I wasn’t out of my depth and wasting my time. Despite my misgivings I knew I had to keep checking. Too much was at stake.

  Chapter 11

  Kimberley Naughton: “Tonight we’re talking to newly appointed Energy Secretary, Virginia Clausen. Good evening, Ms. Clausen.”

  Virginia Clausen: “Good evening, Kimberley. Please call me Virginia.”

  Kimberley Naughton: “Thank you, Virginia. First of all, congratulations on your appointment. On the other hand, condolences on your appointment. ”