Damage Control

by Gordon Savage

  Coffee looked resigned. “You know I agree with you, Sam, and I’ll do whatever I can to help. But right now I’ve been called to a meeting. You’re here for your badge, right?”

  “Actually, yeah. It would make my job easier.”

  “I’m still suspect you’re wasting your time …” He saw my expression. “Okay. Okay.” He pulled a badge and a sheet of paper out of a desk drawer and handed them to me. “I had already prepared this before you called because I expected you.” I saw the slow smirk appear on his face. “Sign the form and take it down the hall to Gloria. She’ll photograph you and make you an ID to go with the badge. Use the badge with respect.”

  I stood speechless as he walked away.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 4, 2:55PM

  I was boiling mad at Wells as I stormed down the hall to Gloria’s office. I had to check myself to keep from blasting her. Gloria, a slightly overweight black haired woman with brown eyes and a perpetual smile, was seated at her desk. She smiled broadly as I came in. “Hi. Sam. Jake said you were coming. Are you going to be working for him now?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Working with him, more like it. I’m only carrying a badge for this investigation I’m working on.”

  “That’s right,” she said as if just realizing what I was doing. “He said you were trying to find the real cause of the explosion. Good luck with that.”

  She handed me a blank ID to sign, clicked something on her monitor, and got up from her desk. “If you’ll step in front of the background over there,”— she nodded at the wall in front of the camera— “I’ll take your picture and prepare your ID.”

  A few minutes later I left the security office with a brand new laminated ID in my hands and headed for Wells’ office. I was still angry about what he had done. I called on my military experience and remembered how I approached one superior who had fouled up. There’s a fine line between disapproval and disrespect. I needed to approach Wells the same way, respectful but determined.

  By the time I walked up to his administrative assistant, Claudia, I had cooled off enough to control my tongue. “Hi, Claudia. Could you find out if he has time to see me?”

  “May I ask what for?” She was his gatekeeper, after all.

  “It’s a private matter. I don’t think he’d want it shared.”

  She nodded and picked up her phone. When Wells answered, I could hear his voice. He sounded impatient. “What is it?”

  “Ms. Pederson to see you, sir.”

  The impatience level went up a notch. “What about?”

  She looked at me as if to ask for details. When I shook my head, she said into the phone, “She says it’s a private matter, sir.”

  A distinct sigh came from the phone. “Tell her I’ll see her in a minute.”

  She looked up at me with her hand over the mouth piece. I nodded. “I heard.”

  It was more like ten minutes. I kept expecting Claudia’s phone to ring and a voice to ask, “Has she gone yet?” When the call finally came, he simply said, “Send her in.”

  I closed the door behind me. Wells glared at me. “What’s so private you couldn’t tell Claudia?”

  I stopped in front of his desk, standing. “Sir, I believe we have a problem.” When he didn’t interrupt, I continued, “I understand that you’ve had substantial parts of the videos of Reid’s explosion seized and destroyed.”

  He showed a flash of anger. “What if I have?”

  “Well, sir, those videos may have been evidence of a mass murder.”

  His face darkened, and I thought he was ready to come out of his chair. “You mean these ‘Alternates,’ as you call them, deliberately let Reid open an interface into their antimatter universe?”

  Where did he come up with that? I could see he was really locked in to the idea it was a matter/antimatter explosion, or at least the idea of selling it. “Sir, I’ve been collecting observations by people who were on scene right after the explosion, and …”

  “What?” he exploded. “They were all told it was top secret, a matter of national security. They should not have said anything!”

  “The ones I spoke to were aware of the sensitivity of the information, but they knew I was a federal officer.”—That response would come back to bite me. —“But they did say that the blast site smelled of C4 and the explosion most likely took place on the ground floor. Reid’s demonstration was on the second floor. The interface couldn’t have been the source of the explosion.”

  I could see Wells was getting angrier and more unyielding. It was as if I were attacking him. “That doesn’t prove a thing,” he growled. “I’m told that wormholes are unstable. What if the two portals interacted in some way that displaced the interface?”

  I tried to soothe him. “Sir, I’m not saying I have anything conclusive, but from what evidence we do have, we can’t rule out a deliberate explosion by person or persons unknown here on this earth. We really need to preserve all the evidence to make a case, one way or the other.”

  Wells stood. His face was red and the blood vessels stood out. “Ms. Pederson, I will not have you or anyone else questioning my judgment! Leave this office now, and don’t let me hear any more of your specious arguments. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes sir. I meant no disrespect.”

  I understood alright. It might mean my job, but there was no way I would stop looking into this so-called accident.

  Chapter 13

  Jason Moffit, Channel 21: “Good morning, everyone. Welcome to This Morning in Washington. We have a special guest for this broadcast, Ms. Beverly DaCosta, assistant director of investigation for uncategorized events. Ms. DaCosta, your position is unfamiliar to me. Can you tell me what your job is?”

  Beverly DaCosta: “I head the group that investigates events that potentially affect our national security but can’t be traced to a specific group or cause. Our job is to sort out the available clues and determine who or what are responsible and, more importantly, make a threat assessment so we can work on preventing such incidents in the future.”

  Jason Moffit: “I’m guessing your group was put together because of the explosion Friday night.”

  Beverly DaCosta: “True. Since teleportals are new and very little is known about their potential dangers, the director wants to be sure that this terrible accident and others like it can be prevented in the future.”

  Jason Moffit: “What can you tell us you’ve found out so far?”

  Beverly DaCosta: “Unfortunately, the destruction of the building was so complete we have very little physical evidence to work with. We’re sifting through what we have, but we haven’t found anything conclusive yet.”

  Jason Moffit: “What about the videos? There were four different networks plus local stations on scene.”

  Beverly DaCosta: “The videos could have proved useful, so we collected all of them …”

  Jason Moffit: “Wait a minute. ‘Could have proved useful.’ What do you mean by ‘could have’?”

  Beverly DaCosta: “I’m sorry; I’m not allowed to comment about that.”

  This Morning in Washington – Channel 21

  Day 5, 5:00AM

  5:00 AM is way too early to get up. I groaned and slapped the snooze button, but I knew better than to go back to sleep. Grumbling to myself, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Cardinal Richelieu looked up at me from his side of the bed and yawned. “Me too,” I said, turning off the alarm and shuffling to the kitchen.

  A half hour later I was standing inside the main entrance of the condo. A cold front had brought about six inches of fresh snow, and it was still snowing. The cab arrived almost immediately. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by a blast of cold air and wet snow. I pulled my jacket closed at my throat and dashed to the cab. The cabbie had opened the back right-hand door from inside. “Hop in. It’s cold out there.”

  I slid onto the seat and slammed the door, cutting off the wind. I flipped my hood back and dusted off the sn
ow. “Sorry about getting your cab all wet.”

  He snorted a brief laugh. “Where to?”

  “Just to the Metro station. I normally walk.”

  He nodded and said, “I can’t blame you for wanting a cab on a morning like this. Seatbelt please.”

  ◆◆◆

  Day 5, 6:05AM

  Getting up at five caught up with me on the Metro, and I dozed off. I woke to the second announcement for my transfer station and groggily made my way off the train. To wake myself up I slipped into a restroom to splash water on my face. After drying off, I took out my phone to check the time and noticed the phone was offline, zero bars. “What the heck?” The battery showed good. Weak signals happen in the Metro, but not zero. I turned to the woman next to me. “I’ve lost my cell signal. How’s yours?”

  She glanced at my bandages but didn’t ask about them. “Mine’s dead too. The transit authority is testing a signal suppression system in some of the restrooms. Something to do with work they’ll be doing later. Here, I’ll show you.”

  She led me outside the restroom. There on the wall next to the entrance was a placard. It announced the test and concluded with, “Sorry for the inconvenience.” I shook my head and said, “Thanks, I must have been half asleep when I went in the restroom and missed the sign.”

  My train was already packed with commuters, so I had to stand. I found an empty strap and settled in for the ride. Naturally, my bruises and bandages caught other passengers’ attention. Most of them quickly looked away. I had to suppress a smile. Instead of them making me uncomfortable, I was making them uncomfortable.

  When I got off the train, the snow was still falling outside but much lighter than it had been in Reston. I put the hood of my jacket up to keep the snow out of my hair and to hide my bandages. Someone had shoveled the sidewalks, but I was still glad to be wearing boots. I took my time walking the two and a half blocks to the precinct station since I was late and roll call would have already started before I could get there.

  Inside the station I pulled back my hood, and unzipped my jacket. I asked a passing uniform where to find Officer McCarthy. Her eyes widened before she pointed me to the bullpen. The room seemed enormous. It was wide open with doors to offices around the perimeter and desks arranged in groups so there were intersecting walking lanes between them. I didn’t see McCarthy’s name plate anywhere. The uniform sitting at the nearest desk had three stripes on his sleeve. He was slightly overweight, and his “high” forehead ran all the way over the top of his head. He looked up as I approached. I read his name off the name plate on his desk. “Hi, Sergeant Quinton. I’m Samantha Pederson. I’m looking for Officer McCarthy. Can you point me to him?”

  Quinton didn’t seem too concerned about my bandages. I was pretty sure he was looking at them, but he didn’t say anything. I smiled. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  He swiveled in his chair and pointed to another uniformed cop at the back of the room. “That’s him over by the bookcases.”

  I thanked him and made my way over to the other desk. McCarthy stood as I walked up. “Good morning, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  “I certainly hope so. I’m Federal Agent Samantha Pederson. I talked to you yesterday about the explosion.” I dug my wallet out of my purse and showed him my ID.

  He examined it and handed it back. “Could I see your badge?”

  Feeling a little excited about its very first use, I pulled out my newly minted badge and showed it. McCarthy only glanced at it. “Technology Reconnaissance Agency? I’m not familiar with that.”

  “We’re not widely known. Perhaps you should talk to my supervisor, Jake Coffee.”

  Apparently the name meant something to him. “Him. Never mind. Now I remember, TRA. I looked you guys up after we talked yesterday. Turns out Coffee has been around here a lot since the explosion.”

  McCarthy checked his watch and nodded at the other end of the room. “You’re looking for Officer Baker when roll call is over,” he said. “It should be about five more minutes. … May I ask why your face is bandaged?” Apparently, his ability to suppress his curiosity was limited.

  “I was across the street from the explosion,” I told him. Then I realized he had only given me one name. “Baker? … I thought there were two officers at the scene.”

  “Mary—Officer LaMotte—took a bullet yesterday. She’s in the hospital.” He had to mean the other officer who had responded.

  “What happened?” I blurted without thinking. I immediately hoped it wasn’t “none-of-your-business” information.

  McCarthy didn’t seem concerned. “She broke up a convenience store robbery, and one of the gang bangers shot her.”

  I sympathized. “Is she going to be okay?”

  He shrugged. “She should be fine. Hit her in the shoulder. She’ll be out of commission for a while, but she’s a tough kid.”

  “Can she have visitors?” I didn’t know when there would be time for me to visit her, but she might have useful information.

  McCarthy gave me the name of the hospital. Before I finished writing it down, the door to the briefing room on the other side of the bullpen opened and uniformed officers streamed out. He noticed and pointed. “There’s Baker, the blond guy.”

  Thanking him, I turned and hurried over to Baker before he reached the exit. “Officer Baker, do you have a minute?”

  He stopped and stared at me. “I can spare one or two. Have you been in a fight?”

  I smiled and responded, “You should see the other guy….”—I really needed some new comebacks—“No, I was in the cab that was blown over a few nights ago by the explosion—the one you responded to. I’m checking into what happened.”

  “How can I help you?”

  I showed him my ID. “I’m Samantha Pederson, I’ve been tasked to investigate the explosion independently to make sure nothing gets missed.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin but managed to keep from shrieking. Shaking from the adrenalin rush, I swung around. The man was almost a foot taller than I, handsome, brown hair cut short, gray eyes. He was wearing an unbuttoned black coat over a business suit. When he flashed a badge, I caught Homeland Security written on it before he clipped it back on his belt. He spoke to Baker. “Officer Baker, I’m Special Agent Phil Kaminski. This is a matter of national security. Your report on what you saw at the explosion scene has been classified. You are not to discuss it with anyone without written permission from”—

  I interrupted. “Wait a minute. When did this become classified?”

  Kaminski scowled at me. “As soon as it happened.”

  “That’s bull. I work for the Technology Reconnaissance Agency and we weren’t notified.” His scowl darkened. I think questioning his authority made him mad.

  “Well, it is now,” he barked. “What’s it got to do with you anyway?”

  “I’m supposed be investigating the explosion,” I growled back. “I need to know what he saw.”

  “And why are you investigating? It’s in Homeland jurisdiction.”

  “Because the rest of the government is barking up the wrong tree. There’s no way this was a matter/antimatter explosion.”

  He continued to scowl. “You know this how?”

  “I’ve been working with Dr. Melissa Kim, the inventor of the teleportal – You have heard of her, I assume.”—I didn’t wait for him to answer—“We examined in detail the possible results of interfacing with an antimatter universe and concluded that the only two scenarios that made any sense were a heat blast that would melt the portal and shut the interface down or one that would start a chain reaction that would at the least destroy both worlds.”

  He didn’t seem impressed. “So the explosion would be either doomsday or blow itself out, huh? Nothing like a pint-sized A-bomb then?”

  I glared at him and said, “You understand. Bravo!”

  He winced. “Who are you?”

  I decided to see if my new status as an agent made
a difference. “Federal Agent Samantha Pederson. I work for the Technology Reconnaissance Agency.” His expression didn’t change. “My boss, Dr. Richard Frost has directed me to conduct a separate investigation of the explosion.”

  “Well, Homeland Security’s order trumps your boss’s direction. This investigation is classified.” He said, looking smugly self-satisfied.

  “I suspect my security clearance is higher than yours. Who do I need to see to get read in?” I knew my clearance was higher than his, but I was trying to be tactful.

  His smug look vanished. He hesitated and then pulled out a small notebook. He quickly scribbled down the name and phone number on a page. He tore it off and handed it to me. “The number is a secure phone.” In other words, I would have to go back to the office to make the call.

  I muttered thanks, and he turned and walked briskly away, apparently satisfied he had averted a serious security breach.

  I turned back to Baker, who had been watching our exchange in apparent confusion. “I’d better let you get on your way. I’ll have to straighten this out, and I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  He looked dazed but finally said “Nice meeting you … I think.” He turned and headed for a coat rack near the front door.

  I looked back at the Homeland guy. He was having a one-sided discussion with a uniformed cop with captain’s bars on his collar. The captain did not look pleased.

  That was a waste of time, I thought as I headed out of the building. Then I thought of Officer LaMotte. Was there a chance Homeland hadn’t bothered to get to her already? I looked at the address on the paper McCarthy had given me and pulled out my phone. A few minutes later I was in a cab on my way to the hospital.

  Chapter 14

  Robbie Martin: “Continuing our coverage of the explosion on Monday night, federal agents with subpoenas confiscated all the videos we had of the explosion except the one that was broadcast. Our camera crews followed them as they searched the station, going through the contents of several desks. Take a look.”