Wounded Earth

by Evans, Mary Anna

  * * *

  The dispatcher was watching the two birds fly over and he saw the hospital helicopter angle to the north and slow to a hover. Something didn't smell right. When the hospital's copter swung back towards him, he knew he'd been had. He kicked the wall behind his desk hard, out of sheer frustration, and tried to raise the security pilot by radio. “Hanford One. Come in, Hanford One. Get your ass back here. He's heading for the K-Basins.”

  He didn't wait for an answer. He got back on the radio and raised the ground security force at the K-Basins. They could do something, if it wasn't already too late.

  “K-Team, come in. Come in, K-Team.”

  It took them a moment to answer, then Lester Atkins came on. “Make it quick. We've got an intruder over here.”

  The dispatcher felt mild relief. Lester was well-trained and savvy. If anybody could help this situation, it was Lester.

  “Damn straight, we've got an intruder. He's on-site under false pretenses. Do anything you can to get him away from those K-Basins. Anything. Got it?”

  * * *

  Lester didn't bother to reply. He grabbed a weapon and ammunition before heading outside. He would have appreciated some help, but there were only two of them on-duty in the area this evening, and Sam was already sleeping off the effects of his late afternoon drinking binge.

  The helicopter was hovering, low, right above the east K-Basin. The left door was hanging open and a wooden box was tipped precariously in its opening. The pilot was trying to simultaneously maneuver the copter and kick the box out the door. The box must have been heavy, because it took several kicks. Lester began shooting about the time the box finally fell free of the helicopter.

  * * *

  Buzz tried to catch his breath. He gave the box a final kick, then piloted the copter straight up as fast as it would go. He didn't want to be close to the impact when the box hit K-Basin East. Besides, there was an idiot down there shooting at him. This felt too real. Clearly, he should have smoked some more pot. Maybe if he took the helicopter higher, he could catch a breath before he dropped the second box.

  Then the box hit. Buzz didn't know what he had expected, but this was louder and bigger. Flames reached up for him and he struggled for control of the copter. The blast had knocked the guard below him flat on his butt, but he was a stubborn bastard. He just sat there and fired.

  That did it. He had hit one target. He wasn't about to get so close to the second one. He wanted the second box out of his craft, but he was going to drop it from up here, where he was a little safer. He headed for K-Basin West.

  * * *

  Lester groaned as he got to his feet. He had bruised just about everything when the blast knocked him to the ground. There were still flames erupting from K-Basin East. He didn't want to think about what that might mean, but it wasn't good. There was some nasty stuff in those basins and this idiot was trying to blast the radioactive crap right out of them. He himself might have already caught enough radiation to glow in the dark, but he wasn't going to let that guy bomb K-Basin West without a fight.

  He ran west, spraying bullets skyward. He could see the pilot, kicking at a second box. He stood still, took careful aim, and fired again.

  Lester couldn't tell what he hit. Maybe it was the copter, maybe it was the pilot. But the craft bucked and pitched swiftly to the right. The box fell out and the pilot fell after it. The blast blinded him, but he was pretty sure the explosives missed K-Basin West. He collapsed back on the pavement.

  A moment later, the helicopter hit, succeeding where the pilot and his bomb had failed. It landed squarely on K-Basin West. The flames were spectacular.

  * * *

  “So Cynthia's a sitting duck,” J.D. said.

  Larabeth had been rummaging through her overloaded bookshelf since she hung up the phone. “Apparently I have failed to get her to safety. So far.”

  ”I presume you have a plan.”

  “This plan is bold. Unfortunately, the boldest part involves you.”

  “I'm not surprised. Bold and Foolish should be my middle names. However, I get the feeling you're brewing a big, complicated plan,” he said. “In my professional experience, simple is good. Why don't I just go to Aiken, knock on Cynthia's door, explain things to her, and get her out of there myself?”

  “Bad idea. Too risky,” Larabeth said, still pawing through her books and manuals. “I'm sure Babykiller is tapping her phones and having her watched to keep me from doing just that.”

  “I've been your bodyguard for a while now. I notice that you're still alive.”

  “Not to offend you, but I get the impression Babykiller wants me alive, at least for the moment. He may not have the same plans for Cynthia.” She triumphantly pulled a thick, 3-ring binder off the bookshelf. “I found it. This manual is the key to my plan. That is, if you go along with it. You've already said you're willing to go to Aiken. The question is this: Are you willing to do it my way? Even if it's dangerous?”

  “Larabeth, I know I can't care for Cynthia the way you do, but I do care. In a weird way, I watched her grow up. I staked out her Junior-Senior Prom, remember? Besides, I care about you. You and I may argue over the details of this plan, but we will work them out. Do we understand each other?” Larabeth nodded. “Now,” he said, “what is in this book that is so important?”

  He took it from her. The cover said BioHeal Corporate Health and Safety Manual for Operations at the Savannah River Facility. The table of contents gave a list of the names and signatures of its authors and of the Department of Energy personnel who had approved the document. One of the authors' names was Cynthia Parker.

  “Look at that,” he said. “Little Cynthia.”

  “Keeping this document up-to-date is ‘little’ Cynthia's job. Your job is to know Chapter 14 backwards and forwards. You need to be at her worksite by three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. That's when the whole crew reports to the equipment shack for end-of-the-day decontamination. It's the only time when I know for sure exactly where Cynthia will be. You'll have an hour's leeway if you leave here by four a.m. If I were you, I'd take an hour to get familiar with Chapter 14 and use the other three hours to nap.”

  “I'm not following you,” he said, handing the binder back to Larabeth. “I'm sure Cynthia did a lovely job with this, but I don't need to know how she earns her living. I need to find her, tell her what's going on, and get the hell out.”

  “And I've told you that we can't be that obvious. That's why I can't go at all. Babykiller's people may be crawling all over South Carolina by now, and they'll know me in a heartbeat. So will Cynthia and all the other BioHeal employees on-site. But they won't know you.”

  “What exactly do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to pose as a field technician. You will deliver a letter from me addressed to the field team leader. That's Cynthia. This letter will trigger the protocols described in Chapter 14.”

  J.D. reached for the safety manual. “And what protocols, exactly, are described in Chapter 14?”

  “Chapter 14 is triggered in case of major problems at the Savannah River nuclear facility. Could be an accident, could be a terrorist attack. Chapter 14 is a safety plan that tells BioHeal's employees what to do if they get word that the whole place is going up. We call it the ultimate scenario.”

  “That's a pretty dramatic term for a bunch of engineers.”

  “It's not dramatic. For people on-site, it's a pure statement of fact. When you trigger the ultimate scenario, Cynthia's job is to get her entire team as many miles away as she can before the thing blows.”

  “According to Babykiller, the ultimate scenario may really happen.”

  “But if you get there in time, and if you trigger the ultimate scenario, and if everything goes smoothly, you and Cynthia and all my other employees will be far away. And anyone trying to get to Cynthia will have some trouble doing it when she's surrounded by you and a couple dozen other people, all identically dressed from head to toe in blue BioHeal saf
ety gear.”

  J.D. sat on her office sofa and began paging slowly through the safety plan. “I believe I counted four "if's" in that last statement. I had best study this thing from cover to cover.”

  * * *

  J.D. was reading Chapter 14 for the second time when Larabeth returned to her office. She sank heavily into her desk chair and began flipping through a bulging accordion file. One by one, she pulled folders from the file. She scrutinized the contents of each one, stared at J.D. a moment, then replaced the contents of the folder and laid it on her desk. She had repeated this procedure six times when J.D. cracked.

  “What in hell are you doing?” he asked, taking the envelope from her hand.

  “I have completely abandoned all pretense of ethical and legal behavior,” she said. “Some of BioHeal's employees only make one visit to a secured site during the course of their entire career, but we still have to compile information on those people to get them security clearances that they'll never use them again. All that information stays on file.”

  “And I'm going to use one of their clearances to get on-site?”

  “Yep.” She dangled a laminated piece of cardboard, about credit card size, with an alligator clip attached to the corner. “You'll need a photo ID. I'm trying to figure out which of these guys looks the most like you. We can dye your hair if it will help. You can't grow a beard or mustache on command, but if we pick a guy with facial hair, you can always tell the guard that BioHeal made you shave.”

  “Your company has a dress code? Larabeth, this is the twentieth century. The very tail-end of the twentieth century.”

  “Beep. Wrong answer. Keep studying.”

  J.D. looked offended. “I have been studying, but some of the rules seem kind of anal-retentive.”

  “You're dealing with scientists. If there's a rule, there's a reason for it. Field employees must shave all facial hair. Otherwise, the face masks on their respirators may fail to seal. Would you like to breathe the crap those people work with every day?”

  “No, ma'am. I mean Dr. McLeod. I stand corrected and I will continue to study.” He tossed the safety manual onto the couch. “But first, let me see those files. I'll bet I can find somebody handsome enough to pass for me.”

  He flipped through them quickly, selected a photo ID, and handed it to Larabeth. “I can look like him. No problem. I weigh a little more than he does, but this picture is a year old. Everybody gains weight sometimes.”

  Larabeth tried to put the ID card back in the envelope. “No,” she said, “not this guy.”

  “Don't be silly. He's about the right height and the right age. His eyes are the right color. So he's bald as an egg. I saw a makeup bag in there,” he pointed to a desk drawer, “and I'll bet you've got one of those dainty pink lady's razors in it. I can shave my head a lot quicker than I can go get a bottle of dye and use it.”

  “No. Not this guy,” she said, tugging at the ID card.

  “Larabeth. My hair will grow back.”

  She looked up at him and said, “No.” She had picked a damnable time to turn obstinate. More obstinate.

  “No,” she said. “This man's dead. He died of cancer a few months ago. He lost his hair to chemotherapy. I can't send you off masquerading as a dead guy. It's too spooky.”

  He cocked his head. “You're mighty superstitious for a Ph.D. I'll tell you, dear, that I feel safer trying to pass for this man than any of the others, living or dead. At least I actually resemble him. If I can't get through that security gate, I won't be able to get to Cynthia. But Babykiller will. You know he can.”

  Larabeth's face, normally so pale, was even whiter. She was only a bit shorter than he was, so she just had to reach up slightly to lace all ten fingers through his hair. “Go on. Shave your head, if you must. Just make sure you bring it back home. And the rest of you, too.”

  Chapter 18

  J.D. yawned. “Surely it says somewhere in this safety plan that key personnel must be allowed to sleep in order to perform effectively.”

  “You're right,” Larabeth said. “Answer the next question properly and you can have your nap.” She looked at her watch. “I'm afraid it will be a short nap.”

  “One more question,” he said. ”Go ahead, I'm ready.”

  “It's a five-part question.”

  “That's cheating. You said one. But go ahead anyway. I know all the answers.”

  She leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Here goes,” she said. “What is Level A safety protection?”

  He rubbed his eyes and said, “Moon suits, like the bad guys wore in E.T. Complete body protection and self-contained breathing apparatus. Air can also be supplied through a tube, just as long as the worker is receiving pure air, not filtered stuff from the work area.”

  “Very good,” she said. “I hope things don't get so bad that you have to use Level A. How about Level B?”

  “Same as Level A, only there can be some areas of exposed skin.”

  “Level C?”

  “Like Level B, except the respirator doesn't have to provide outside air. Filtering contaminated air is okay. And since I know your next question will be Level D, I will answer before you ask. How's that for cooperation? Level D protection is limited body protection, mostly just to repel splashes of contaminants that aren't too dangerous. We were wearing Level D protection in the Nebraska cornfield—protective jumpsuits and rubber gloves.”

  “And usually a hard hat,” she said. ”Very good. Now, what's Level E protection?”

  “You've got me there. Does this mean I get no sleep at all?”

  “No,” she said, “you get an A-plus. Level E is a field tech's joke. When some hotshot struts around a site dressed in an expensive suit, a silk tie, and a very shiny hard hat, that's called Level E protection.”

  “I get it. Am I supposed to make jokes, so I can fit in with this crowd?”

  “No.” Larabeth's response was so sudden and certain, that it took J.D. by surprise. “Don't talk unless you have to. Don't make jokes. They might not come out right. If someone talks about ‘Level E Protection’, go ahead and laugh. Just try to blend in until the time is right, then give Cynthia the letter and keep her safe while she carries out the plan.”

  “Yes, ma'am. Am I done for the night? It's a long drive home.”

  “It's too late to go home. I've pulled a lot of all-nighters in this office, so I'm prepared. This couch we're sitting on makes a bed. You can have it and I'll put the cushions on the floor.” She held out her hand to silence his protest. “Take the comfortable bed. Cynthia, me, everybody that Babykiller has put in danger—we need you well-rested.”

  “Will you be safe while I'm gone?” he asked.

  “I'm sure the FBI will do their best.” She moved to stand up, but stopped for a moment. “I will miss you, though. You make me feel safe, it's true. But, besides that, I'll miss you. And I'll worry the whole time you're gone.”

  J.D. didn't speak for a moment. She was the same Larabeth he'd known for years. After all this time, she was still so beautiful that it startled him at unexpected moments. But there was a softness, too, well-hidden, yet always there. Tonight, the softness was out in the open. That was the part of her that he loved.

  “If you mean that, if you'll miss me, then don't make me miss you tonight.” He reached a tentative hand to touch her hair. “Don't leave me.”

  She leaned toward him, only slightly, but it was enough. His arm encircled her waist and drew her to him. He didn't pause to unfold the sofa bed. He had been thinking of her all night, long before he knew there was a bed available. He had waited a long time and the couch was enough.

  * * *

  Babykiller flipped on the TV, expecting to be entertained. He wasn't disappointed.

  “This is Jean Bower, with the latest update of the situation here at the Hanford Site, a Cold-War-era nuclear facility in eastern Washington. According to official reports, there has finally been some activity in the vicinity of the K-basins, where a fire
has been raging since yesterday.”

  Babykiller sighed. Yes. Highly entertaining.

  “Because of the possibility of terrorist involvement, the FBI has assumed control of the investigation. The following actions are complete.

  "Nonessential personnel have been evacuated. Non-governmental personnel, including the press, have been barred from the site. The National Guard is being mobilized in the event that Richland is evacuated. Anonymous sources report that a corridor along the Columbia River will also be evacuated.

  “A ‘Hot Zone’ has been defined near the K-basins,” she continued. “There is no other official information, but this reporter has found that defining a ‘Hot Zone’ for personnel decontamination is a necessary preliminary to sending workers onto an emergency site.”

  “Hanford representatives have declined to comment on the possible danger to area residents, but archival information sheds light on the gravity of the situation. First and most frightening, the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists states that a worst-case scenario involving the K-basins would lead to a nuclear chain reaction or ‘criticality’ event. Under certain conditions, both the stored uranium and its rusted cladding will burn when exposed to air.”

  Babykiller took notice. This reporter clearly didn't enjoy parroting 30 seconds of official information, then working to pad the rest of her 5-minute report. She had done her homework. She was obviously using the time between broadcasts to beef up her knowledge. She was getting much better information now than she would get later from the inevitable deluge of publicity-seeking nuclear physicists. The young woman had a future.

  Ordinarily, he would have considered recruiting her into his organization but he himself had no future. He was hopeful that the cancer would let him live long enough to take a few people with him. A few thousand people. And, likely, more than that.

  * * *

  J.D. traced the scars on Larabeth's abdomen. He didn't have to look at her back. There were scars there, too. He had felt them while she slept.