Three Minutes to Midnight

by A. J Tata

  “Can you pull it back?” Mahegan asked.

  “I think so, if no one has jacked with the controls.”

  She maneuvered the joystick and began retracting the drill cable, pulling in the slack. The drill bit spun and actually faced the camera, as if to question the motives of its operator. Through the camera Mahegan could see dozens of fuel rods stacked on the bottom of the pool, free of the racks. They looked like cut timber in a cleared forest. It was difficult to gather much more information, because the drill bit kept moving the base of the cable, but he had seen enough to know that as soon as the water drained from the pool, the fuel rods would create an enormous radioactive fire.

  “I’ve got it,” Maeve said. He could see she was pulling the drill bit back through the hole. Water was coursing past it, drowning out the image.

  “How do we stop that leak? It has to be at least four feet wide, based on what I saw.”

  “I’m thinking. It’s impossible to block it at the base of the pool. The nuclear guys will not have prepared for this contingency. A minor leak, sure, but not this. They have divers that go down and check the rods on a regular, frequent basis, but the water at the bottom of these pools is as radioactive as it comes.”

  “And it’s now rushing into our hole and will come shooting out of the well just down the hill, like newfound oil,” Mahegan said.

  “Hadn’t thought about that.”

  “Where is the channel the most narrow between the pools and the well?”

  “You’re a genius,” Maeve said. “The second kickoff point. I can lower the drill and try to make the channel collapse on itself.”

  “What about the explosives? You said something about perforating charges. Can you use the fracking explosives to collapse the well?”

  “Yes. One-two punch. Let me get the drill to try to make the rock and earth block the channel. Then we’ll pull out the drill and put in the explosives to collapse the vein.”

  “You need the workers in the yard to do that, right?” Mahegan asked. “Where Petrov is?”

  “Yeah. He has been handling the operation down there. They are short on people to do the heavy lifting now . . . thanks to you, I guess.”

  Mahegan turned to Ting, who was now conscious. Using his knife to emphasize his point, Mahegan put the tip under Ting’s chin and said, “You are an enemy of my country. You’re a terrorist. I have full authority to kill you. Now, tell me, what were your last instructions to Petrov?”

  Ting shook his head. “You kill Chun,” Ting said. “He the one in charge. I am low-level foot soldier.”

  “Then I guess I don’t need you,” Mahegan said. He lifted the knife, pulled back Ting’s head, exposed his throat, and placed the knife’s razor-sharp edge near the carotid artery. “I did kill Chun, and I didn’t even think about it. In fact, I had already forgotten about him, until you just reminded me.”

  A personal radio in Ting’s pocket came to life with a Russian voice. “We are commencing retraction of the cable and preparation of the explosives.”

  Mahegan pressed the tip of the knife next to the Chinese man’s larynx, pushed it in and drew blood, then pushed it in a little more, until the man screamed.

  “Okay. I’m going to grab this radio, and you’re going to say, ‘Hold at kickoff point. Then pull back.’”

  Ting shook his head, until he realized he was making the gash in his neck hurt worse with the knife still in an inch there.

  “Say it once for me so I know you’ve got it,” Mahegan said.

  “Stop at kickoff point. Then pull back,” Ting said in his thick Chinese accent.

  “Okay, so I’m going to press this button, and you say it again. If you say anything else, I will cut your throat, and you won’t say anything ever again. Understand?” He pushed the knife another half inch into Ting’s throat. Blood was pooling on the floor.

  “Understand.”

  Mahegan pushed the button, and Ting shouted, “I am not—”

  Those were the only words he was able to say, because Mahegan cut his throat and shut off the radio in a simultaneous motion.

  “Petrov’s pulling the cable back. I’m going to have to fight him at the kickoff point,” Maeve said.

  “I speak some Mandarin,” Mahegan said. “I know Ting’s accent is Beijing Mandarin. I can probably replicate it once, so let me know when you need me to do it.”

  Mahegan stood behind Maeve as they watched the drill bit head fall through the channel under her direction. Water sluiced past the camera, drowning the image.

  CHAPTER 37

  SAM BLACKMON COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS SEEING. THERE was a drill bit the size of a basketball spinning wildly in the bottom of the pool and eating through the fuel rod racks. The water in the pool was draining fast.

  “Have we opened the floodgates in the lake?” he asked. The idea was to have water coming into the pool as fast as it was flooding out.

  “We’re trying, sir,” Stickman said. “But we’re on standby, waiting for a permit from the state.”

  “To hell with that,” Blackmon said. He had been under fire many times and wasn’t going to lose his cool. But he did feel fear boiling in his stomach. “Open those gates all the way. I’ll take the heat for this.”

  Less than five miles from Sam Blackmon, Grace linked up with watchers Elaine and Brandy in the parking lot of a major shopping mall, behind which the Underground Railroad emptied into a tributary in Durham County. They were anonymous in the mostly vacant lot, and so they stood in the cool evening air. Piper’s small hand was cradled in Grace’s slender fingers as Grace explained the situation.

  “This is the kidnapped kid, Piper Cassidy. Hawthorne rescued her and the mother, but the mother went back in to help him with the drill.”

  “Guy’s amazing,” Elaine said. “Enough to make me want to go over to the dark side.”

  “Let’s not go overboard,” Brandy said.

  “This is serious business,” Grace said. “These guys are drilling up through the nuclear power plant. Hawthorne knows you were in the Navy, Elaine, and figures you at least know how to use a rifle. He wants us to go up to the boulder and start picking off the workers when he gives us the signal.”

  “You’re kidding?” Elaine asked. “I haven’t shot a rifle since basic training.”

  “You’ve probably never shot his kind of rifle. It’s got a silencer and everything.”

  “Well, if he needs the help, we’ll give it to him,” Elaine said.

  “Agreed,” Brandy said.

  “You’ve got to take care of Piper, Brandy. Plus, I’ve got a bound and gagged Bosnian in the back of my car. Take Piper to Elaine’s place and chill until we come get you.”

  Brandy nodded. “Got it.” She took the keys from Grace’s hand.

  Elaine popped the hatch on her SUV, and Grace heaved Mahegan’s bag of tricks from the trunk. They all hugged, and then Grace knelt in front of Piper and told her it was going to be okay. Brandy reassured her and then put her in the front seat of Grace’s car. Grace leaned into the backseat and stuck her finger in the captive woman’s face.

  “Don’t you dare try anything crazy,” Grace said, whispering out of Piper’s earshot. She pointed at Brandy in the driver’s seat. “This woman here is just out of jail for murder.”

  They watched Brandy pull away in Grace’s car, then hopped into Elaine’s SUV. Grace made the phone call Mahegan had asked her to make. The Wallaby gas station was practically on the way to their destination. In the parking lot she saw a Buick Electra idling low to the ground. Elaine pulled up so that Grace’s door was on the driver’s side of the Buick.

  “Diablo?”

  “Sí.”

  “It’s time. I see you’ve still got the phone Mahegan gave you. Can you do this?”

  Diablo nodded. “I’ll try to find Manuela.”

  “Gracias,” Grace said.

  Elaine then pulled out of the parking lot. The drive to the firebreak took about thirty minutes, and it would take them
another twenty to get set up behind the boulder. The night sky was cloudless, with a sliver of a moon, like a haunting smile. The women trod softly through the forest paralleling the firebreak. They took turns carrying Mahegan’s duffel bag, which carried the equipment they would need. They tried to be careful, aware that their cover might have been blown by all the activity.

  “Elaine,” Grace whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “If we get discovered, just know you can count on me.”

  “Never a doubt,” Elaine replied. “And likewise.”

  “I mean, don’t doubt me. Okay?”

  “I won’t.”

  Upon their arrival at the boulder, Elaine reached into the duffel bag and extracted an M4 carbine, with its night optic scope and silencer. Grace grabbed a pair of night-vision goggles, held them against her eyes and focused the lens.

  “Lots of activity down there,” Grace said.

  “I don’t know a thing about this rifle, Grace. It’s like a small M-sixteen, which I did shoot a couple of times.”

  “How hard can it be? Just put the bullets in it and aim it,” Grace said, turning toward Elaine. She removed the night-vision goggles and watched her friend fumble with the weapon.

  Elaine found a box magazine with shiny metal cartridges that held bullets and slid it into the well of the M4 until Grace heard a click. Elaine pulled on the charging handle and chambered a round more loudly than she meant to. She thumbed the safety to off and sighted through the scope.

  “All black,” she said.

  “Turn the scope on,” Grace said. She watched Elaine feel for an on-off switch, find the knob, and flip it.

  “Much better. Bright green. I can see Petrov at the wellhead. Some of those idiots are smoking cigarettes. The lights actually help,” Elaine said. “Let me give this thing a test run.”

  Through the night-vision goggles, Grace watched Elaine spin to her left and pick out a target beyond the drill rig, a small Eiffel Tower–like structure.

  “Truck tire. About six feet tall. Just below the trailers. Shooting at it ought to tell me whether I can hit anything with this. It’s about three hundred yards.”

  Grace knew that at one time Elaine had been a reasonable hunter. She had learned to hunt with her father near the farm where she grew up. Not a particularly rich family, they had actually had to hunt for provisions. Her parents had stocked the freezer with deer, bear, and birds. She knew that Elaine’s love of nature had fueled some of her opposition to the fracking.

  Grace heard Elaine flick the safety lever to the single-shot position. Elaine leaned the accessory rail against the boulder, steadied her aim, and pulled back on the trigger with the pad of her index finger. Grace heard Elaine exhale slightly; then she jumped at the cough of the weapon as it fired. She settled down quickly enough to put the goggles to her eyes and find the tire. It had deflated with a pop, which she’d heard above the din of turbines and shouting at the wellhead. Grace watched the workers at the wellhead for any sign that they had heard the shot. The men continued to push and pull at ropes and pipes, apparently none the wiser.

  “Pretty easy,” Elaine said. “Tell Hawthorne I can do it. And I see five workers down there, including Petrov. And I see your idiots smoking cigarettes. I’ll just aim at those, and it’s not a problem to shoot them if he really wants me to, but I would prefer he deal with them.”

  “Conflicted, are we? These guys are about to create a radioactive fire inside the Shearon Harris Nuclear Power Plant. We’re all toast if that happens.”

  “I said I will do it. Just text him and tell him we’re ready.”

  Grace worked her thumbs across the smartphone, letting Mahegan know their ready position and the status of the wellhead. She also sent a note saying that she had met with Diablo, but Manuela was present at the time, so the Mexicans were not a sure thing.

  As both women watched Petrov and his men extract the drill cable, Grace’s phone vibrated with a text from Mahegan.

  In a minute I will give word to shoot Petrov.

  As the message came in, Grace and Elaine used the optics to scan the far wood line. A car was snaking its way up the road.

  “Car coming up the road. Maybe it’s the Mexicans,” Elaine said.

  “Let’s hope so,” Grace said.

  Grace relayed the information to Mahegan.

  “Okay,” she said, turning back to Elaine. “We’re good to go, as Mahegan would say.”

  “Too bad he’s not here with you,” said a third voice.

  Griffyn had found them.

  Grace spun upward and faced off against her boss. Her stomach dropped when she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. His head was canted sideways, as if he was a rabid animal considering which threat to attack first. A shotgun slanted across his body like a hash mark.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Griff. Finally,” Grace said. “Where have you been?”

  Grace watched Elaine out of her periphery. Elaine began to move Mahegan’s rifle, triggering a reflexive response from Griffyn, who raised the butt of his shotgun and smashed it into Elaine’s face.

  Grace clenched her stomach but remained stoic. Her friend fell backward on top of Mahegan’s rifle.

  “Been trying to find your ass for two days,” Griffyn said. “Where the hell you been?”

  “It sure as hell took you long enough to get here,” Grace said. “You told me to get in good with the lesbians, so I did. You told me to get close to the Indian, so I did. What haven’t I done for you?”

  Griffyn hitched his shoulder, as if he had a nervous twitch. “Well, go ahead and kill her,” he said, handing her the shotgun. Before taking the weapon, Grace knelt and placed her hand against Elaine’s neck.

  “She’s dead. No pulse. Check it out for yourself. Besides, we don’t need anyone to hear the blast from the shotgun. You can call it in.”

  Griffyn said, “You’re the technician. You say she’s dead, she’s dead.”

  Grace looked at Elaine, who was lying motionless in the dirt, and nodded. “She’s dead. We done here?”

  “Nope. Not until we get the Indian. Let me make this call.” Griffyn pulled out a handheld radio and said, “Base, this is rover. Watchers neutralized.”

  Grace listened for the reply and heard a voice say, “Roger. Return to base.”

  “Let’s go then,” Grace said.

  As they stepped along the narrow trail leading away from the boulder, she heard movement behind her.

  “Not so fast, you two,” Elaine said.

  CHAPTER 38

  MAHEGAN STOOD BEHIND THE DOOR AND LISTENED. HE HEARD Brand Throckmorton and his wife, Sharon, arguing.

  “This thing’s falling apart, you stupid moron!” Sharon shouted. “One person has single-handedly shut your ass down. If you weren’t thinking with the head in your pants, maybe you could have pulled this off.”

  A muffled cough followed Sharon’s outburst, and Mahegan knew it was a pistol report.

  After a moment, Throckmorton screamed, “You bastard! You killed her!”

  “Did you a favor,” said a male voice. Mahegan’s sense was that it was the elder Gunther’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure. “We can blame it on the Indian. Griff’s got Grace Kagami and killed the dyke. Just cleaning up, Throck. That’s all.”

  Mahegan heard a slight whimpering, the sound of Brand Throckmorton crying. He pictured him hovering over Sharon, imagining all he had lost, despite his infidelity.

  If the watchers were out of play and Grace was a captive, Mahegan thought, the battlefield geometry had changed. What he had calculated as three different moving pieces now became two at best. He had no idea how reliable Diablo and Manuela would be in a combat scenario, but without the watchers pinning down the roughnecks at the wellhead, Mahegan would have no supporting fire. His freedom of maneuver would be restricted.

  He left the door that separated the hallway from the main lodge. He turned around and looked to his left where the door to the tunnel was ajar. To his fro
nt was the door to the observation room. He took a few steps and turned right through the door to the control room, where Maeve was watching the chaos inside the nuclear rod pool. She looked catatonic.

  “Look at me,” Mahegan demanded.

  Startled, Maeve turned and stuttered, “Y-yes?”

  “Is there another control room anywhere around here? I need to find where they follow the cell phones.”

  “There was always a lot of activity down there in the infirmary, or what became the infirmary once you showed up.”

  Mahegan walked into the hallway and through the door to the tunnel. He checked several doors, all of which led to empty rooms, before he found one that was locked. Mahegan’s knife made quick work of the flashing and the doorjamb, and soon he was in the cool air of the server room. From floor to ceiling he saw server racks and blades, as well as routers and high-tech gear he didn’t recognize. He found a monitor that had twelve small insets with maps on them. Each showed the location, or the last known location, of a cell phone. It was a Stingray. Mahegan had used this technology in Afghanistan and Iraq to find the enemy. Now the enemy was using it to track employees, the watchers, and, ultimately, him.

  Modern technology tracked the phones in the cloud, which required passwords he did not have time to hack. Knowing the phones could be tracked from another computer, Mahegan was banking on the idea that if he destroyed this setup, he might shut down the tracking of all communications for the operation. If he couldn’t track anyone, then he didn’t want anyone else having that capability, either. He did need to keep cell phone communications operational, however.

  He carefully unplugged every wire and plug he could find that led into the monitor and the server feeding the monitor. Then he smashed the hardware on the dusty cement floor. Knowing that was the best he could do, he glanced at the other blinking and flashing servers. He didn’t want to damage those, because that might impact Maeve’s ability to maneuver the drill and see into the channel, which were other key elements of his plan.

  Mahegan exited the server room and walked along the dark tunnel, listening to the cries of the wounded EB-5 workers he had locked in the room where he had found Maeve and Piper. He walked back to the door separating the lodge from the control room. He listened at the door, behind which Sharon had been shot.